


Aspen Falls

by rakukajas, spoopertrouper



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 80's Nostalgia, 80's fashion, Aliens, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Middle School, Background Hunk/Shay, Background Keith/Hunk, Endgame poly, Established Alforan, F/M, Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Found Family, Galra Keith au, Gen, Government Conspiracies, Happy Ending, King Alfor And The Paladins, Little Kid Shenanigans, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Violence, Multi, Slice of Life, and some angst, background Heith, gratuitous use of pop culture references, ot3 heavy after chapter 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rakukajas/pseuds/rakukajas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoopertrouper/pseuds/spoopertrouper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance meets Keith when he falls out of a smoldering spaceship. Lance does not expect Keith to be a furry alien boy. They make it work.</p><p>Matt hears the words "experimental aircraft" and gets UFO-hunting tunnel vision. His best friends, the student body president and the first chair tuba, are dragged along, but not for lack of protest.</p><p>A story about humanity, Bugles, poly confusion, finding your mom in small-town Maine, and having good time smuggling your new friend from the feds.</p><p>// (Inspired by Stranger Things, Twin Peaks, and various 80's/90's movies. Updates every week or so!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Falling Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to @rakukajas for being one of my betas and for screaming about this idea with me for like 6 hours! Also thanks to @notrover, @randomartishstuff, @unchartedstars and all the amazing friends in our skype group who helped with a bunch of ideas, as well as helped beta. You guys are all stars and I love you so much! 
> 
> Also thanks to the Duffer Bros, for making a rad Netflix show.

* * *

 

“Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying.”

― **Arthur C. Clarke**

 

* * *

 

“Blue Lion to Yellow and Green Lions! I’m taking heavy fire - I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out!”

“Hold on, buddy!” came the immediate reply from Hunk, clear as day over the wailing sirens and concussive echoes of explosions that rocked the Blue Lion’s cockpit. Lance heaved a sigh, his ears ringing with warning klaxons, and held the controls steady as he blinked sweat out of his eyes. Leave it to Hunk to have his back. “We’re coming!”

“I’ll draw their fire!” Pidge announced, her voice pitched higher with urgency and strain.

From his position of small cover, pinned down in the concave protection of an asteroid field, Lance could see the small, green blur of his comrade zip by. The bright afterimage of her lion was a trail of limelight that zigzagged through the belt and across the fright line of enemy soldiers.

“Lance!” Hunk shouted, drawing out the syllables as his yellow lion careened to a stop, placing himself between his friend and their attackers. Despite Pidge’s efforts, a few of the antagonistic ships still had them in their sights. Lasers shot passed, chipping away at the rocks and glancing off of the yellow lion’s thick armor.

“We should fall back - we can’t take this many!”

“But the King!” Pidge insisted, her voice almost drowned out by the sounds of enemy lasers coming through her com.

“Let’s fall back to the castle,” Lance decided, finally having caught his breath. He pulled his lion out of hiding and drew level with Hunk, leading the way through the field. Pidge was already making her way back to them, circling tight through the spinning, drifting rocks, “We can regroup and—“

The impact of an enemy laser was final and decisive, the shockwave rolling from his lion’s flank and across her metal body, tearing a hole, deep. Alarms rang shrill and desperate, Lance tried to rally, but the controls had locked in trauma.

“Mayday! Mayday!” he shouted, as his lion fell from the sky, spiraling down, down, down.

“ _Lance!_ ”

He wasn’t sure where he landed, only that he had - and badly at that. His lion was in ruins, shot clean through by an alien laser gun, and beaten and banged up by her fall through the asteroid belt. He could feel her dying, and he knew, distantly, that he was also dying.

But at least, Lance thought, his friends were there with him.

“Lance! Dude, hold on! Lance! _Lance!_ ” He heard Hunk’s desperate cries as the Yellow Paladin exited his lion, and ran to where he had been thrown from the cockpit. With his eyes closed, Lance felt the warmth of Hunk’s strong arms wrap around him as he cradled him against his chest.

“Lance, please, buddy! Talk to me!”

“Hunk…” he wheezed, dark lashes fluttering. He lifted his hand, seeking, and felt the small comfort of Pidge hand as she knelt next to them, her expression solemn and her eyes unreadable behind her owlish glasses. “I think this… is it… for me…”

“Don’t say that, man! You’re gonna be okay!” The older boy looked up at Pidge, desperate, hoping, his fingers wrapping tighter around Lance’s shoulder. “Right? He’s gonna be okay - Pidge! Tell him- tell him he’s—“

Pidge closed her eyes, and shook her head - the smallest fraction of a movement. No. No he wouldn’t.

Hunk stared at her, and the tears that had been brimming in his eyes suddenly spilled over as he sucked in a breath, a agonized sob. Big, fat tears rain down his cheeks, and dropped to Lance’s face.

“I-It’s… okay…” Lance groaned, giving Pidge’s hand a squeeze before letting go. He patted Hunk’s chest comfortingly. “My only regret… is that I n-never…t-told the Princess… how much… I loved her…”

Pidge snorted, softly, under her breath.

Lance shot her a dark look, lips pursed in a pout, and then continued. “Pidge - I’ll miss your… sarcasm. And how you let me… copy your homework… in Mr. Ekhart’s class…”

The youngest Paladin nodded, solemnly, and said, “ _I_ won’t.”

“Hunk!” Lance lamented, suddenly grabbing onto his friend’s hand. “My guy. My bro! You were… the bravest… The best…” he coughed and shuddered, words coming out in strangled croaks. He knew he didn’t have long. “I couldn’t have asked for a b-better wingman…”

He reached up and touched Hunk’s face tenderly. Hunk’s dark eyes widened in surprise, fresh tears trailing down his face as he covered Lance’s hand with his own. “L-Lance…”

“Tell… King Alfor… I’m—…” Before he could finish his sentence, Lance breathed his last breath, words leaving him in an exhale. His head lulled limply to the side. He was gone.

“G-Good night… sweet prince…” Hunk whispered. He took his friend’s hand in his own, and pressed a cyssan kiss to his cold knuckles. Next to him, Pidge began to whistle _T_ _aps_ , as she snapped her hand to her head in a salute. She made it just before the second measure when -  _bam!_  - the door at the top of the stairs burst open, spilling a rectangle of warm light onto the trio huddled in the center of the basement.

“ _¡Niños!_ It’s a school night, unless you're forgetting! Time to go home!” 

“Aw, _Ma!_ ’ Lance groaned, sitting up straight in Hunk’s lap. “You’re ruining the moment! We’re in the middle of a battle!”

“Mrs. Sanchez,” Pidge said, sitting cross legged, with more solemnity than any ten year old should, “I regret to inform you, but your dear son, Lance, is dead.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh!” Lance nodded vigorously, at the same time that Hunk said, “It was so sad! So heroic!”

Mrs. Sanchez crossed her arms over her chest, unimpressed. “Your ghost still has school, _mijo_ , you can continue next weekend.”

“But _Ma—!”_

“ _Sin excusas,_  it's already late for you all.” Her tone softened, expression sincere and gentle and all the unflappable mien that herded Lance out of trouble. “I’m sorry, kids. Feel free to come back some other time - your bikes are out front!” She left the door open, a clear indicator that there wouldn’t be any negotiations. Lance heaved a frustrated sigh, and flopped back down onto his back.

“Man, she _always  _does this – just when things are getting good!”

“That’s what moms do, Lance,” Hunk shrugged, and grabbed his coat off of the well–loved and well-used couch, buried somewhere under the piles of blankets and pillows, the remains of countless forts that they never got around to putting away. “It’s, like, a universal rule. Anyway - that was such a great scene! I was, like, crying. Like, genuinely crying!”

“I know, dude, you got snot in my hair!” Lance laughed, and scrubbed his hand across his face in mock disgust. His fingers caught over short tufts, making his bangs fluff up in odd angles.

“Have you thought about joining drama with me? Sign-ups are still open, y’know, and you’d be so good! Plus we could hang out together, and everyone on the crew is really nice and funny and—"

“Please,” Lance held up a slender hand, “I don’t think the world is ready for my incredible talent.”

“That’s a kind way to put it,” Pidge commented, pulling her windbreaker over her green hoodie.

Lance frowned, “Hey!”

_“Kids!”_

“We’re coming!” the three shouted in unison, a litany of begrudging obedience.

“Want us to help clean up?” Hunk offered, even as he shouldered his backpack. He glanced around at the permanent mess that was the Sanchez basement and their usual cold-weather hangout. So chosen because it was the only finished basement between the three houses with enough space to host their adventures, and because Olivia Sanchez always cooked enough to feed a small army.

It wasn’t a DnD night, which meant that there wasn’t much for Pidge of Hunk to personally pack up, but an entire Sunday’s worth of play and rough-housing meant that the basement was in a general state of disarray; pillows strewn across the floor, furniture moved about and turned on its side to provide shelter, nerf balls and crumpled balls of paper collectively providing evidence of an intergalactic battle.

“Nah, I got it,” Lance shrugged, and led the way up the stairs, the thundering of their shoes on the old wood stairs announcing their arrival to the rest of the house. They all knew the chance of Lance cleaning up their mess was astronomically low.

Olivia was bustling through the kitchen as they topped the stairs, putting away what few leftovers remained from their dinner. The TV played quietly from the living room, the after-dinner ritual of Lance’s father.

“Bye Mrs. Sanchez!" and “Thanks for dinner Mrs. Sanchez!” rang out like chimes as the kids passed, their shoes tracking crumbs and Cheeto dust on the carpet like little reverse-vacuum cleaners. They squeezed around the dining room table and towards the door with all the resolve of a tiny army. Olivia waved fondly, her round face, framed by dark curls, bright with a smile.

“Goodnight, kids! Ride safe! Stay warm!”

“Your mom is so sweet,” Hunk cooed, brushing passed Lance as he flipped on the floodlights above the garage, in order to get to his bike. “Like, she’s my second favorite mom. Next to my own mom, of course.”

“Of course,” Pidge echoed, reaching around her handlebars in order to turn on her headlight. The circuit connected with a hissing click, and white florescent light splashed out across the dark driveway, spotted with bright, damp leaves. She rolled her eyes behind her glasses, but smiled.

The air was heavy and chilled with the promise of rain. The humidity clung to his him and made his thin t-shirt feel like a second skin. Looking up, Lance noted that the usually clear and star flooded sky was blanketed by low hanging clouds. He felt a drop land on his cheek, and held out his hand.

“Not to kick you guys out, but you might wanna hurry,” he hummed, thoughtful. It was too cold, the air too stable for thunder, but he still felt the ionized static in his body. The night felt still, waiting for a clap of thunder that would never come.

Hunk made a low, fretting noise in the back of his throat, and tipped his head up to look at the clouds. He brushed his dark bangs out of his eyes and squinted, concerned. “D’you think Matt could give us a ride?”

“Matt doesn’t have a car,” Pidge shrugged, briefly taking off her glasses to wipe off a stray drop of rain from the lenses.

Hunk considered this. “Can you call Matt and have him call Shiro to give us a ride?”

“Dude, we can just call Shiro ourselves, we have his number?” Lance arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. The cold was starting to set in.

“Matt’s too busy, like, crying over the Atlantis shuttle right now. Plus - him? Call _Shiro?_ ” Pidge scoffed, throwing her head back in a cackle. “He might combust.”

“True,” Hunk sighed, tipping his head to the side as he leaned against his handle bars. “Man, remember when your brother used to be cool?”

Her shoulders hunched up around her ears, defensive, “Hey! He _is_ still cool. In an awful and nerdy way.”

“I mean cool with _us_. Like – remember when he used to play Paladins and Dungeons and Dragons and stuff with us?”

Pidge looked at Hunk, and then at Lance. Her glasses caught the light of garage as she replaced them on her face, “Dude. That was like five years ago.”

“Still! _”_

“ _Anyway_  - I’m out of here,” she rolled her eyes, pushing off the ground to coast down the drive way. “Have fun riding home _alone_ , Hunk!”

Lance could practically see the color drain from his face in the washed out light. His friend made a low, startled noise, and quickly peddled after her, shouting, “Hey! Wait up!”

“See ya later, nerds,” Lance grinned, placing his hands on his hips, as Hunk turned on his own light and followed Pidge down the drive.

“Have fun being dead, Lance!”

“Seeya, dude!”

Lance stood there for a moment, watching his the beam of his friends’ headlights bob and float down the road, the shadows of the bare trees rising and stretching around them, until they turned the corner on Fritz and slipped out of sight.

The light above the garage flickered suddenly, buzzing with the failing electrical system, and he frowned turning around. The spotlight dimmed, enough that he could see the hot outline of the filament, before coming back on.

“Huh,” he blinked, and stepped back. Lance flicked off the light, making a mental note to ask his dad to change the bulb, and headed back inside.

 

* * *

 

Lance was awake before he realized he had fallen asleep.

He laid in the dark of his room, staring up at the ceiling, at the poster for _The Empire Strikes Back_ that he had taped over his bed. The one with Darth Vader standing menacingly over the rest of the cast, the background washed out with ice and snow. The house was dark and silent apart from the gentle tik of a clock and the nasally trumpeting of his Pa snoring down the hall.

Lance frowned up at Vader, wide awake, and wondering why. He almost never woke up before his alarm like this, unless he had to pee, which he didn’t think he did.

The neon numbers on the clock on his bedside table read 12:00 exact. He felt a chill in his bones, reading the time, and sat up in bed. Lance looked around his room, his eyes adjusting to the near dark. He could see the outline of his desk, his dresser, the dark forms of his clothes and toys strewn carelessly across the wood floor. Rain pattered quietly outside, a persistent drizzle. Beyond the streaked window he could see the shadowy fingers of the trees, reaching up to the navy night sky, lit by moonlight.

Nothing at all out of the ordinary.

Wait.

_Wait._

Lance frowned. His sleep lagged mind was slow to process what his senses were telling him. The pieces that didn’t add up.

It was raining, steadily, but the moon was bright enough to light up the sky?

Curious but not cautious, Lance crawled out of bed, hissing when his bare feet touched the chilly floor. He padded over to the window, peaking out. He could hear something now, too, a steady and rumbling whine - but distant. He almost thought he was imagining it. An airplane, maybe? No. It was higher than the growl of a jet engine.

Leaning against the sill, Lance stared out into the night, squinting. Was it his imagination or was the sky getting lighter? He thought he could see the moon - the cool glow of light through the ceiling of clouds - but…

The moon wasn’t orange.

“Holy _shit._ ”

The sound grew louder, matching the intensity of the light, as whatever it was drew closer to the ground, faster, faster, faster - until it burst through the cloud, close, incredibly close, and large. A streaking ball of fire, burning white hot and shining, trailing black smoke and red embers. It lit the sky white, hurtling towards earth like the ground was a long lost lover.

The meteor flew beyond the trees, backlighting their trunks with blinding light –

_Boom._

Impact.

Lance expected something more, honestly, some sort of shock wave or explosion, not the distant pop and hot glow of orange that domed over the tree line. He could, however, see the black and oily column of smoke that arched up to kiss the clouds.

“Holy shit,” He breathed again, blindly reaching for his (realistic) walkie-talkie. He held the broadcast button with down with numb, shaking fingers. “Lance to Pidge and Hunk. Lance to Pidge and Hunk. Guys, guys! Come in! Over!”

Their fuzzy voices filled the silence a few moments later, hazy with sleep.

“Dude, what time is it?” That was Hunk.

“What’s up, Lance?” That was Pidge.

“Houston,” Lance said, speaking before he even realized it, his voice shaking in his throat. Something in his chest buzzed with something like excitement and fear, the feeling of something starting, of something bigger than himself. “We have a problem.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Chapter 2 is in the works and will probably be up in a day or two. I'm going to try to get ahead a few chapters so I'll have a nice buffer zone. Until then, thanks again!
> 
> Peace.


	2. Into the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so many thanks to @rakukajas for being my lovely beta and friend <333 as well as the space doirks™ chat crew. u guys rock <3

* * *

   **Aspen Falls**

**Northern Maine**

**October, 1985**

* * *

 

 

 

Sometimes Lance wished his friends were a little less in the category of “little shits” and more in the category of “actually helpful". 12:03 AM, on the morning of October 7th, following the crash of what was possibly a UFO into the woods behind his house, Lance was of the opinion that this was exactly one of those times.

“What, did you forget to do your English homework again? Over,” Pidge asked, her voice sounding low and groggy with sleep, bitter and sharp after having been rudely woken up.

“No! Well – shit – yes, I did. Shit.”

There was a heavy pause in which Lance could practically feel the burn of Pidge’s smug satisfaction from her house, two miles away.

“But that’s not why I called!” he continued quickly, “Didn’t you see it? Over?”

“See what, dude? Over…” Hunk asked through a yawn. Lance could practically see his friend, sprawled out on his bed and rubbing at his eyes sleepily, tangled up in his quilt. Thousands of sleepovers had resulted in the trio knowing each other’s sleeping habits like the back of their hands.

“The-! The—…” Lance floundered for a moment, his gesturing wildly at the dome of light outside his window, like his friends could somehow see what he was pointing at. The words felt heavy on his tongue, carrying a weight and implications that he hadn’t thought about till now. He felt that if he said them, then it would make this strange dream into a reality.

“—The _UFO!_ ”

“The _what?_ ” asked Hunk, voice high in surprise and incredulity. His words phased out in static as Pidge deadpanned through a huff of annoyance, “I’m going back to bed.”

“Guys, I’m serious! It woke me up! There was this – bright light? I guess – I thought it was the moon but it’s cloudy and that shit didn’t make sense so I got up to look and suddenly there was this – this giant… _fireball!_ ” A shuddering snort from down the hall made Lance flinch, reminding him his parents were likely still asleep, and that he wanted it to stay that way. He continued on in a hushed, but no less excited voice - “It just soared right over my house and just crashed! Out in Endor! I can see the fire through the trees from _here_!” A beat. “Over.”

There was a minute of silence, and then Pidge said, awestruck, “Shit – you’re right! How hasn’t the whole _town_ noticed it yet? Over.”

“Oh my god?” came Hunk, a second later, somewhere between a scared little whine and a tremor of excitement. “W-What if it’s a plane? I mean no offense to your alien theory, Lance, I like aliens as much as the next guy and, yeah, it would be cool if they decided to visit Earth – as long as they were peaceful aliens like E.T. and not like the Xenomorph – oh, god—“

“Hunk!” Pidge barked, at the same time that Lance urged, “Get to the point!”

“Right, right, sorry. I’m just thinking – I wonder if the pilot is okay? You said it crashed, right?”

Lance was moving before his mind caught on to what his legs were doing. He grabbed his backpack off the floor and quickly gathered up as many supplies he had on hand, which amounted to: a blanket, an extra coat, a pocket knife (in case he had to, like, cut through a seat belt or something), a flashlight, and a half empty bottle of water. He stepped into his galoshes as he grabbed his jacket off the back of the door, pausing only to tuck the hems of his pajama pants into the tops of his boots.

He took a moment to quickly arrange his pillows in his bed, tucking them under the blanket in the vague shape of a body, just in case his Ma would glance in, and then he was crawling out onto the roof through his window. He made sure to leave it open a crack, but not too much that it would cause a draft. Ma was very attuned to the temperature in the house and he wasn’t about to draw undue attention to himself by making a stupid mistake like that.

Edging towards the gutter, Lance carefully sunk to his knees. There was an old Maple whose branches were in desperate need of a trim, one of which rested almost entirely on the corner of his roof. Mindful not to slip and fall to his death (how anticlimactic would _that_ be?), Lance inched his way onto the slippery branch, and then down, down, towards the safety of the trunk.

He dropped himself down, and let himself hang by his arms, judging the distance he would fall and aiming for a spot where the roots were smooth and buried. He wasn’t keen on breaking an ankle, either.

His boots hit the ground with a splash of mud, sliding already through the loose dirt. He wind-milled his arms in vertigo, and caught himself on the slick trunk of the Maple.

“I’m out, over.” Lance grinned, turning the volume back up on the walkie-talkie. He caught the end of the overlapping voices of both Hunk and Pidge – wondering where the _hell_ he was and why wasn’t he saying anything and he better not be doing anything stupid.

“Oh no,” Hunk groaned, muffled by what was definitely his hands over his face.

“Meet me at Emberwood and 22 and we’ll—“

“What—! Lance, are you _crazy?_ I’m not – I’m not riding all the way out there in the dark! Plus, it’s raining. Over!”

Lance pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He loved Hunk, he really, truly did, but sometimes the whole cowardly lion thing could be a little inconvenient. “Pidge! Meet up with Scaredy Pants and we can circle back—“

“No can do, pal.” He could hear her frustration through the crackle and hiss of the walkie. She was probably pacing, as she did when she had too much energy and nowhere to go, back and forth in front of her door, a lion in a cage. “Mom’s pulling an all-nighter editing her journal, over.”

“So?”

“Dude. It’s crunch time. It’s now-or-never time. It’s the Eleventh Hour of ' _The International Journal of Applied Radiation and Isotopes'_  editing. My mom is currently mainlining caffeine. She is awake, and there is a 1 in 292,000,000 chance of me actually sneaking past her.” A disgruntled sigh. “Over.”

“I-I’m not going if Pidge isn’t going!” Hunk stammered apologetically. Lance could probably swing out to get his friend, but Hunk lived in the complete opposite direction of Endor, and it would only waste time to circle around like that.

“Then I guess this is a solo mission.” Lance shrugged, pulling up his hood and ducking his head against the rain. It was steadier now, heavier, and cold. His hair was already soaked, and he could feel the water run rivulets of ice down his spine. “I’ll keep you guys updated. Over and out.”

“Godspeed,” Pidge said. “Over and out.”

“Good luck, dude! Please be safe! Over and out.”

The problem, Lance decided, was not that it was the middle of the night, or that he could barely see through the fat raindrops or the mist that had pulled itself above the lush, fern-laden ground like a sheet, or that it was cold as a witch’s tit. It was that he had no idea how _far_ _away_ the UFO had actually landed.

Endor was huge; the old growth forest was, slowly, but surely, losing its battle against the logging industry. A chunk of it was protected state land, but the Park Service could only do so much against the ‘ever turning blades of capitalistic progress’ – or at least that’s how Allura put it, her nose scrunched in distaste and despair. Lance understood, though. He could also see _why_ it was losing. Aspen Falls was too far north, and too small to generate the tourist income they needed to keep the parks running. Not when there were so many other places in Maine to go – Bar Harbor, Portland, Augusta.

Lance shook his head, digressing, and nearly tripped over a root and broke his face. Cursing, he looked around, trying to orient himself. He had a compass in his bag somewhere, but he didn’t really feel like opening it up and getting all of his shit wet while he looked for it. And, besides - it was pretty easy to follow the trail towards the landing site.

The flickering orange-yellow glow of the fire through the trees was a pretty dead giveaway.

It was finding his way back that was gonna be a pain in the ass.

“This alien better be awesome. If it’s just a weather balloon, I’m suing NASA.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

If Lance had gotten any closer to the UFO crash site, he was pretty sure it would have bitten him right on the ass. An hour spent wandering through the woods had left him with nothing but soggy pant legs, half-numb fingers and a piss-poor attitude. When he found this alien, assuming he didn’t freeze to death first, he was gonna give it a piece of his mind.

That was about the time that the ground had fallen away from under his rubber boots.

It was a short drop and a sudden stop to the bottom of a shallow gully. He didn’t so much as fall, exactly, as slide, the exposed roots and rocks catching at the back of his legs, until the ground leveled out and he was left sprawled on his back. Lance laid there in the mud for a long, long moment, staring up the circle of trees above his head as the loose dirt and rocks that had precipitated his fall settled into his hair. The pines reached and stretched, spindly and dark arching both towards each other and the heavy, bruised sky.

A wind shook the pines, carrying with it the thick, acrid stench of burning metal and circuitry.

Lance sat up.

The gully wasn’t a gully at all. Well - it was, but it wasn’t naturally occurring. He grabbed his flashlight from where he had dropped it – briefly thanking god that it hadn’t cracked on a rock or something – and shone it around him.

In the stark light of his flashlight beam he could see the pale, splintered limbs of fallen trees and shattered branches. Nothing was immediately on fire, but the earth and tree barks had been scorched black. Swinging the light to his right, he could see the start of the trail, and the sharp, still-smoldering half circle cut through the tree-tops where the ship had sliced through on its decent.

Lance was on his feet and running.

“Guys! Guys! I found it! I found the UFO! Over!”

A burst of hissing, garbled static was the only reply he could coax out of his walkie-talkie, and he groaned. They were great for talking to each other from their homes, because they all lived pretty close, but it was immediately apparent that he had moved far out of range.

“Dickballs. ...Whelp.” He rubbed the back of his head, brushing as much dirt and gravel out of his hood as he could. “Looks like this is a solo mission after all.”

He followed the crash trail with urgent abandon, picking his way through charred and twisted roots and shards of what looked like smooth, curved sheet metal. Debris that must have been torn clear as it crashed, he thought. The paint – assuming it was paint, and the alien metal just wasn’t that color to begin with; what the hell did he know about space shit? – had burned away or had been burned black, but he could see patches of purple and the fizzing remains of neon pink lights.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he inched forward through the wreck, until—

“Holy space invaders!” he whispered unironically. Sue him for using 80's slang in moments of stress.

Lance felt frozen in place, up to his ankles in mud and mulch, looking up at what was, undeniably, a UFO. Although, it was a lot… He tilted his head, considering the ship – smaller. Than he was expecting. It was maybe the size of a mobile home, and certainly not flying saucer shaped. It kinda looked like a boat, if boats were completely enclosed and sort of pyramid shaped. What remained of its wings hung, partially severed and bent, from their joints.

Lance had the brief mental image of a limb, held to the body only by strips of muscle and tendon—

He looked away sharply, shuddering, and focused on something else.

He was no mechanic, certainly not an alien one, but the whole thing was totaled. He could see the exposed circuitry underneath the outer panels, disconnected and severed wires sparking angrily, and he was fairly certain that wasn't suppose to be happening. Smoke poured thick and coiling from the far side of the ship, mixing with the white hot steam raising from the hull. With every raindrop, a soft _ping_ sounded off like a litany of tiny little bells. 

“H-… Hey? Hello?” Lance called around the lump in his throat, his words sticking as the direness of the situation finally sunk in. He was standing in front of a real-life UFO. An actual alien space ship that had crashed behind his house. A ship that was harboring who knew what. Aliens, presumably, but – were they friendly? Dangerous? Cannibalistic? Did it still count as cannibalism if it wasn’t the same species? Suddenly he _really_ wished he had gone and picked up Hunk—

_Bang._

Lance yelped, scrambled back.

“Wh—! …Hello?”

_Bang._

Okay, that definitely coming from the – the door? Yeah, that looked like a door. He could sort of make out the seam, and the clouded port-hole window. Shit. Oh. Shit.

“Nope. Nope. I did _not_ sign up for this creepy haunted alien horseshit. Sorry – no _way_.” He swiped his hands out in front of him, shaking his head as he backed up. This was bullshit. This was how people died. By wandering off into the woods alone to look for mysterious unexplained shit, and then they got eaten. No _sir_ , not to _day_ —

He was going to go. Really, he was, just turn around and let the cops handle this, but - goddamnit - his conscience decided to speak up.

_I wonder if the pilot is okay? You said it crashed, right?_

Lance’s conscience tended to sound a lot like Hunk.

He stopped. He sighed, and slapped his palm to his forehead. “ _Please_ don’t want to dissect me,” Lance prayed into his hand. He spun back around, and took a deep, steadying breath. He was the Blue Paladin – he could do this.

But he’d be damned if he was going to do anything unarmed.

He knew he had a knife in his bag, but the thought of using it to—. He shuddered, and grabbed a sturdy looking branch off the ground.

“Okay. Play it cool. You’re a Paladin – a defender of the universe. You got this, man.”

Creeping forward, Lance edged his way up to the door. This close, he could feel the residual heat from the metal, heard the crack and pop as it cooled under the shower of rain. Carefully, he held his hand out, just above the hull, testing the heat. It was warm, but not white hot like he had imagined it might be – in fact it was almost cool, and smooth. He thought it might feel weird, alien, but the hull just felt like plain old aluminum.

“Good. Okay. Now – door… Where is… the … switch?” Frowning, he ran his cold fingers around the seam. The hull was pocketed with dings and dents, but as far as anything that might be a switch or a handle went, it was completely smooth. “How the hell? Hey!” Frustration and anxiety blooming slowly in his chest, he rapped his knuckles against the door. “Hey, open up! Uh? Please? I– I come in peace!”

He paused, and tilted his head as he listened. The banging had stopped. “I heard you before! I wanna help! Hello?” Lance called, standing on his tip-toes to try and peak through the window. He pulled his sleeve over his hand, wiping the fabric across the glass to try and clear the fog. “ _Hello—?”_

The door opened so suddenly, hissing steam and hydraulics like an explosion in itself, that Lance – definitely did _not_ scream. Definitely.

He sprung back, lifting his branch defensively, his weapon feeling utterly useless at the realization that whatever was inside this ship could have far, far superior technology. It could have lasers, and all he had was a stick. He could see a figure forming through the smoke and fog, and stuttered, “H-Hey, stand back—!“

The wind caught the smoke and tore it away, swirling out of the open door way to reveal—

A boy.

A purple… furry… boy.

“Well – that’s…“

The boy swayed, and Lance was moving even before he saw the kid’s knees buckle. He dropped his weapon in lieu of catching the fainting alien against his chest. Lance wasn’t sure what he was expecting – prickly porcupine fur or peach fuzz, ice cold or fever hot, bones that shifted or bent underneath his fingers – but instead he…

He was warm, and soft, and light. A fragile bird under his palms.

“H-… Hey. Are- are you okay?”

Lance held the kid in his lap, his hand cradling the back of his head and neck, his fingers twisted through the thick, dark colored fur that felt and looked more like hair than some sort of mane. He rested the boy’s narrow shoulders against his knee, and Lance could feel his thin ribs expand with each light and slow breath.

“Um,” Lance said.

Alien-Boy didn’t move, curled limply in Lance’s lap, and Lance took that opportunity to actually look at him.

He was fair boned, with features that might have been just slightly too large for his face, that could have looked unusual but instead made him look... soft. Young. His eyelashes were dark against the short purple fur that covered his skin, casting black shadows and catching the rain drops. His dark brows were furrowed and drawn upwards, his lips parted just enough that Lance could see the white gleam of his sharp teeth. It was the… ears. That was the most distracting – somewhere between a bat and a cat? Maybe?

“I – this is unexpected. Oh!”

Alien-Boy stirred, his lashes fluttering to reveal the stunning yellow of his eyes, opening till they were half lidded in a daze. Lance could practically see those golden eyes swirl into focus, resting slowly on his face.

Lance looked at him. He looked at Lance. The Earth slowly moved in its diurnal course.

He _screamed._

Lance, of course, screamed in turn.

The boy flailed, twisting and jumping out of Lance’s grip. A pair of sharp claws missed Lance’s nose by a hair, and he flung himself backwards like a cornered animal. Lance landed on his ass, kicking his legs and slipping through the slick mud and leaves while the alien scampered in the opposite direction – back towards his ship, scurrying on his hands and knees.

He slipped on the wet slope of the ramp that led up to the door, his gangly legs spilling off the side until his bare, clawed, paw-like feet caught the edge and he launched himself back into his pod. He spun around, and their eyes locked across the torn expanse of the clearing—

And then the door slid shut.

For a brief, brief moment, the only sound was the _ping-ping-hiss_ of the rain striking against the hull of the ship.

And then Lance was on his feet and pounding on the sealed bulkhead. “Hey! _Hey!_ I’m trying to help you, asshole!” Through the fogged glass he could see the pale triangles that had to have been the tips of the boy’s ears twitching with every fall of his fist. He was right by the door – he could definitely hear him.

“Okay. Okay.” He huffed, and took a step back, holding up his hands. _Maybe_ pounding violently against the door wasn’t the most conductive way to draw the alien back outside. “Listen. Buddy. Pal. I didn’t, uh. Didn’t mean to frighten you? Why don’t you come on out and we can—“

A purple, furry face appeared in the window, brows drawn down over his bright eyes. Lance’s face froze in a relieved smile, “See, now that wasn’t so—“

The alien _hissed_ at him, like a goddamn cat, ears folding back slightly and hair puffing up.

And then he dropped right back down and out of sight.

“Rude.”

He stood there in the rain, scratching at the back of his head, confounded. Did this guy even speak English? Or was he just scared shitless? Or was it a combination of a language barrier and having just dropped out of the sky onto a strange planet? Probably the latter, he decided. Awkwardly, he ran his hand along the door, looking for whatever had caused it to open in the first place.

“Alright. Um. I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you, I just… want to…”

Something deep within the ship wheezed and sputtered, and something _else_ near the top of the ship exploded in a screeching shower of sparks and smoke. Lance yelped, and danced a half step backwards. Like the last rattling breath of a dying beast, whatever lights that remained on the ship buzzed and faded out. With no power remaining, apparently, the locks or seal or whatever was holding the door closed gave way, and it slid decisively open.

The alien jumped in surprise, scrambling back with a startled yelp of a growl. He huddled himself against the back of what must have been the captain’s chair – the only chair. Lance peeked his head inside, rubbernecking around the doorframe to see the interior of the small pod. There were dull and dark control panels that must have shone so bright, lighting up like a Christmas Tree when the ship had power. There was a single bed, the mattress strewn across the floor and the blankets and pillows scattered about, which had probably happened during the crash. As far as he could see, there was nothing inherently personal about the ship, no pictures or toys or clothes. Just the bare essentials. He had thought, maybe, that there might be more aliens – maybe his parents or family – but it was clear now that the boy had made the voyage by himself.

He had flown through space, to an unknown world – and now he was stranded, so, so far from everyone and everything.

Alone.

“Hey,” Lance said, softly, and dropped down to his knees, the small expanse of the ship between them. He held out his hand. “It’s – it’s okay. My name is Lance,” he said, and gestured to himself, pressing his palm flat against his own chest. “What’s yours?”

The alien looked at him and narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“O-… kay. Clearly they don’t have manners in space,” he mumbled under his breath, frowning. He could feel annoyance and impatience settling in his chest. It was late, he was tired, he had school in the morning, and yeah, wow, cool, aliens! But he hadn’t exactly expected the first extraterrestrial he met to be suck a jerk.

“Right, okay,” Lance decided, “how about a deal?”

The alien twitched his nose, and sunk a little lower behind the chair.

“Your ship is pretty wrecked. And I bet you had an – uh- eventful day. Definitely had an eventful landing.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, scratching at the mud that had since dried into his hair. “Things are crazy and confusing and probably pretty scary… Right?”

An ear twitch. A blink.

“… Right. Why don’t you come back with me – to my house? You can stay there and then after school tomorrow we can figure out what to do about your ride? Maybe try and call your… parents?” He paused, a thought occurring to him. “You – you do have parents? Right?”

The boy made a low, startled sound, a murmured little _meep_ , and inched his way out from his hiding spot. He tilted his head to the side, shoulders hunched up around those big, pointy ears in caution, but not necessarily in fear. Lance took that as a win.

“You know, parents?” He waved his hands from the left, to the right, trying to explain what _parents_ were. _Dios Mio_. “Um. A mom, and a dad?”

His batlike ears swiveled forward suddenly as his eyes widened. His clawed hand clutched at his chest, fisting gently into the tight material of his shirt.

Lance blinked. _That_ he seemed like a pretty positive reaction.

“So… that’s a yes, then?”

A slow nod.

“Sweet!” Lance grinned, springing up to his feet. The alien followed him with his eyes, holding himself still against an instinctive flinch. Lance held out his hand. “You’re gonna love my basement! It’s really warm and we’ve got the greatest couch – you can even read some of my comics if you want! Oh, and I’ll bring you down some leftovers, if you’re hungry.”

The boy sniffed, considering the offered digits for a moment, before rising easily to his feet (paws?). His legs were a little weird, Lance noticed, seeing him stand upright, like he had an extra joint down by his ankles, or as if he was walking on his toes. Backwards, he thought, like a dog. But other than the fur and the ears and the eyes and the purpleness – he seemed pretty much human.

He looked him up and down. Sure, he was covered in fur, but the only clothes he wore was a short sleeved, short panted bodysuit – kinda like a surfing wetsuit. Great for space, he guessed, but probably not good against the rain. “Are you gonna be cold?”

A head tilt, and one eyebrow raising into the mop that was his hair.

“Cold?” Lance wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, by way of demonstration. It only earned him a blank, slightly judgmental stare. This language thing was going to be a pain in the ass. “Okay, you know what—“

He pulled the extra jacket out of his backpack and shook it out, brushing stray crumbs off of the sleeves. “Here,” he said, draping it across the boy’s boney shoulders. “That’ll help.”

The alien looked down at the sleeves, running his fingers over the cool, red and blue nylon, before looking back up at Lance with those wide, golden eyes. There was something like startled confusion written across his face, that melted into a quiet, thoughtful look, his lashes fluttering against his cheek. Lance swallowed his heart, and took that as the okay to hit the trail, and stepped out into the rain, flashlight at the ready.

His companion whined after a solid three minutes of walking, keeping pace easily through the woods, slippery with mud and fallen leaves and rough with hidden, raised tree roots. Apparently he wasn’t a big fan of rain. Join the club, buddy.

“Y'know,” Lance spoke up, “you never told me your name…”

He could feel the burn of the alien’s stare on his neck, the fine hairs under his collar standing on end. He refused to let himself be creeped out – he was just a kid! A weird fuzzy kid who fell out of the sky, but a kid all the same, who couldn't be much older than himself. Lance looked over his shoulder, and regarded him; that curious, wary glare and the slight purse of his lips.

His flashlight beam bobbed ahead of him, and somewhere, far, in the woods, an owl called.

He had to call him _something_. He couldn’t just keep calling him alien-boy, though, with those freaky bat ears, El Chupacabra was probably more accurate. “Hmm,” Lance hummed, stroking a muddy hand along his chin in thought. His companion shifted back, hunching his shoulders under Lance’s scrutiny.

“I got it!” he grinned, snapping his fingers through the air. Lance slung his arm around the boy’s shoulders, ignoring the confused tension that flooded down his spine, the wide-eyed look he gave him too priceless and oddly endearing. They were equally as soaked, but at least Lance had the benefit of not looking like a drenched cat, with matted fur and water dripping from the ends of his ears, droplets catching in his eyelashes.

Lance laughed, the strangeness of the situation flooding through him, but also the realization that the world that he had known for the last five years, which had only stretched as far as the town limits, to the sign on route eleven that declared _‘Welcome to Aspen Falls!’_ had now expanded infinitely, suddenly, into the stars. It felt like a tipping point, like the edge of a thunderstorm and the curl of a crystalline ocean wave, and his chest swelled with the expectation of change.

“I know what I’m going to call you!”

The boy tilted his head, expectant. His dark brows lifting into his hairline, almost bumping the side of his head against Lance’s, an infinitesimal brush of fur and skin.

“I’m gonna call you… Keith.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much everyone for their support omg! i didn't expect this much positive feedback so quickly?? you're all so sweet and im so glad your enjoying this! i know i am! 
> 
> chapter 3 is in the works, and will be posted by wednesday. i'm working out a posting schedule that i can stick to, which will probably be friday and wednesday? or saturday and friday? tbd
> 
> thanks again for reading! 
> 
> peace!


	3. The New Neighbor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) Birthday Ella!! You're so sweet and wonderful and the best Beta! Also thanks to everyone in the chat for helping with the name, and for advertising this fic?? Y'all are too good to me <3

* * *

  _Did you think that your feet had been bound by what gravity brings to the ground?_

_Did you feel you were tricked by the future you picked?_

_Well, come on down_

_**-Peter Gabriel** _

* * *

 

 

“Keith? Who the hell is _Keith_?”

Lance pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and tried not to scream.

They’d been over this. They’d been _going_ over this since Hunk had blind-sided him in front of the bike rack that morning with a running tackle. Lance’s back was _still_ sore from when he’d been scooped up in a signature bear-hug and had almost been smooshed to death. It was pretty embarrassing, to be honest, to be lifted off his feet like he weighed next to nothing, and in front of the entire school no less. But then he saw the wobble of Hunk’s lip and how he was _that_ close to tears of relief and--

He couldn’t stay mad at him.

It had been non-stop questions since. It was now lunchtime and he was _tired_ – both mentally and physically. He’d only gotten a few hours of sleep; it had felt like the second his head had hit the pillow, his alarm had gone off.

“Okay!” Lance threw up his arms, narrowly avoiding smacking Pidge across the nose. She shot him an unimpressed glare over the top of her glasses. “One more time. Keith is the alien guy! He’s living in my basement! He’s got weird bat ears and he hissed at me but he’s cool now!”

Both Pidge and Hunk stared at him. Pidge opened her mouth, then closed it.

“The alien’s name is _Keith?_ ” Hunk’s thick eyebrows were practically fused with his hairline at this point.

“I dunno – I guess? He – he doesn’t exactly speak… English,” Lance deflated, and rubbed at the back of his neck. He was pretty sure he’d gotten most of the dirt and leaves out of his hair in the shower that morning, but he still felt sort of grimy.

Pidge dropped her head into her hands. “Oh my god. Lance.”

“What?” He squeaked, squaring his shoulders defensively, “He needed a name! I couldn’t just keep calling him alien-dude! It was late – it was all I could think of!”

“All you could think of was _Keith?!_ ”

“What’s wrong with Keith?”

“Everything!”

Hunk tilted his head, considering. “What about Kevin?”

Pidge’s head flew out of her hands, her glasses sliding down to the tip of her petite nose, looking at them both, aghast. “That’s even worse!”

“Batman?” Hunk offered, holding his hands to the either side of his head, fingers splayed like ears by way of explanation.

“ _Ohh_ , that’s a good one….” Lance grinned, swirling a soggy fry around through the inch deep pool of ketchup on his tray, thoughtful, “It’s not to late to--“

“He’s not a _pet_ , Lance,” Pidge scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. She may have been tiny, rail thin, but she cut an impressively authoritative image. She’d been hanging out with Shiro a little too much, Lance decided. “He has _his own_ name.”

“Yeah, but,” Lance tried not to flinch under her heavy, unwavering stare. Pidge’s glares were a weapon of their own. Years of trying to perfect her technique had so far been in vain; he had no idea how she could pack so much judgement and will into a simple look. One glance was enough to kill a man with feelings inadequacy. “The- the language thing! He doesn’t speak English – or Spanish, Pidge, I already tried that. I’m not even sure he _can_ talk.”

Silence fluttered over their lunch table, flooded out by the ambient noise of the cafeteria, as the three considered that possibility.

“Well,” Pidge spoke up, a toothy, lopsided grin spreading across her round face. She adjusted her glasses as she leaned back in her plastic chair, “maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to _you._ ”

Hunk’s mouth dropped open in a perfect ‘o’, and Lance just blinked sluggishly at her.

And then the other shoe dropped.

“H-Hey!”

She accepted Hunk’s high-five with practiced grace

“But seriously,” Pidge continued, “We’re coming over after school. I want to meet this ‘ _Keith.’_ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The moment that the bell rang for dismissal, the trio was out the door and on their bikes, peddling away like the building was on fire.

The rain from the night before had cleared, leaving nothing but the pale blue void of a cloudless sky and a crisp autumn wind that stung Lance’s lungs and throat with every breath – the promise of winter held on a knife’s edge. The trees had yet to fall bare, but instead were painted in the hot, sharp tones of autumn. The aspens turned to gold, and the birches splashed with blood, while the pines held strong and stubborn to the deep green of their needles.

As they coasted down the road towards Lance’s house, falling into a line along the shoulder, Lance let his eyes slide out of focus, centering only on the horizon of the street. The scenery blurred at the edges of his vision, like a watercolor painting running wet, a forest on fire.

They rode down the hill from the school and into Aspen Falls proper, and as they turned the corner onto Main Street, the town rose up around them. They circled the square, with its sparse trees and faded gazebo and creaking park benches, past the post office and the town hall and the old fire station – the three of which looking startling out of place in comparison to the other buildings that circled the square. It had been way before his time, but Hunk’s mom had explained that there had been a fire back in the 40’s that had almost wiped Aspen Falls off the map.

They’d rebuilt – but there was a noticeable difference between the solid stone masonry of the salvaged store-fronts and the square, lifeless frames of the new government buildings. It was a clash of Small Town America and Contemporary Fix-It-Quick architecture.

They coasted through the only stop light, and down onto Broad street, down past the Knotty Pine Diner, its neon sign like the beam of a lighthouse, always lit, guiding the road-weary and the lost to the comfort of strong, hot coffee and fresh baked pie.

As quickly as they’d entered, the kids were out the other side, out onto the shoulder of Belvedere and out, out, out into the wilds of the woods. The aspens and oaks stretched out above them, across the road in a desperate, longing reach, while the pines stood like sentries among them. They turned off the main road and down, through the sprawling, wooded neighborhood that they shared, down to the last house on the lane.

Lance’s house.

As they coasted down onto the pocketed and paved driveway, he was relieved to see that both of his parents’ cars were absent. He just hoped that Keith had listened to his instructions to _stay put._ He still wasn’t sure how much the guy actually understood, and that morning had been a confusing dance of charades and wild gestures.

“Keith…!” Lance called, entering the basement through their storm-door, just in case someone _was_ home, with Pidge and Hunk hot on his heels. “Hey, buddy, you around….?”

The basement was trashed.

Which meant it was exactly how he left it, and his Ma hadn’t come down to tidy up. Thank god. He put his hands on his hips and turned in a slow circle, looking for any sign of their furry friend. The blanket fort he’d built to serve as a bed the night before was still intact, but the front part was folded messily on top of one of the chairs, and the bed of couch cushions and pillows left vacant.

“You don’t think he escaped?” Hunk tried, wringing his hands together in unease. He glanced around at the shaded, cluttered corners of the room, as if the alien might be stalking them from the shadows, like some sort of demented predator. “Oh, god, what if he got out? What if he’s running around town right – Oh. There he is.”

Both Pidge and Lance turned to where the oldest boy was pointing, to the couch that had been uprooted and overturned the day before - more specifically to the furry, lavender tufts of ears that were peeking out over the top.

“Keith! Buddy!” Lance grinned, spreading his arms wide in a friendly greeting. The ears twitched, once. “I told ya I’d come back. Did ya miss me, pal? Stayed out of trouble?” Hunk and Pidge were staring at him, and he felt the awkward heat rise up the back of his neck. “G-good. Um. I brought some friends to meet you!”

The pair of ears ducked down behind the couch and out of sight.

“Kinda shy, isn’t he..?” Pidge observed, clicking her tongue.

“H-hey…come on, man. Don’t be like that! My friends are cool! Like – literally the coolest people you’ll ever meet. Don’t be rude.” Lance huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, slightly offended. What was this guy’s problem?

“Aw, he’s probably just scared,” Hunk shrugged, and took a careful step towards the couch. “Uhh. Hi, Mr. Alien Guy,” He gave a little wave, and bent at the waist, bracing his palms against his thighs. “We’re not gonna hurt ya. I’m Hunk – and this is Pidge – and you know Lance already.”

“Unfortunately for him,” Pidge said under her breath, deflecting the scandalized glare that Lance shot her with practiced ease.

“Why don’t you come on out?” Hunk continued, his tone soft and soothing, warmth flooding each word in the comforting way that only Hunk could manage.

A pair of ears appeared behind the couch, followed by a mop of dark violet hair, and finally, a pair of bright, yellow eyes, narrowed in distrust.

Hunk grinned, Pidge blinked, and Lance shut his trap.

It was like watching a glacier move with how slowly Keith crawled out from his hiding spot, which wasn’t even that good of a spot to begin with. Amateur. Hunk had moved to sitting cross-legged on the floor, a big, goofy grin on his face, while Pidge hovered over his shoulder, lips parted in a tiny ‘o’ of interest.

Equal parts cautious and curious, Keith sat back on his haunches just of out Hunk’s reach. His legs were tense, his whole body a tightly coiled spring, ready to bolt. Each sound sent his ears swiveling, from the creak of the old floors to the wind scraping branches outside.

“Amazing,” She breathed.

“ _Yeaahhh_ , I guess he’s kinda cool,” Lance shrugged, dismissive as he made a show of inspecting his nails, scraping the flecks of dirt he had missed last night out from underneath. The whole skittish cat thing had gotten old fast, and he figured it was Hunk and Pidge’s turn to deal with him.

Hunk held out his hand, hopping forward an inch on his butt, “It’s nice to finally meet you, man. I mean – I can’t believe it! A real – a real live alien! I have so many questions!”

Keith regarded his hand with one eyebrow cocked, one fang poking out from between his lips. He looked from the hand, to Hunk’s face, back to his hand.

“Oh – uh. Sorry. It’s – It’s a hand shake. Like this,” He turned to Pidge, who was ready, already following where he was going, and gripped his hand in a tight, friendly shake.

“It’s how we greet each other,” she explained, dropping her hand back to her side.

“Or waving, waving is another way to greet someone!’ Hunk added, excitement building at the prospect of teaching, of explaining something new. He waggled his fingers in demonstration.

Keith tilted his head from one side, to the other. Hunk held out his hand, and this time, Keith leaned forward, his nostrils flaring minutely as he sniffed, experimentally. Some of the tension had left his shoulders, but he still held himself without assurance, wary, waiting. Lance watched the scene, jealousy sitting sour in his belly at Hunk’s seemingly infinite patience.

Keith reached out, hesitating, and then slipped their palms together.

A grin like sunshine split Hunk’s face, a teetering, pleased laugh escaping him as he marveled down at the alien’s hand, so slender and different compared to his own, wide, tanned one, the gentle pressure of Keith’s claws resting against his pulse point. A shy, awkward smile curled the alien’s bowed lips, and Hunk only smiled wider.

“That smile looks good on you,” Pidge complimented kindly, as Hunk swung their hands from side to side, his laugh light and musical with unbridled joy. Brief confusion filtered across Keith’s face, one furry eyebrow quirking upwards.

“You know, a smile?” Lance asked, leaning into the conversation. He pushed up the corners of his mouth in the biggest, goofiest smile he could muster, while Pidge cocked her lopsided, cheeky grin.

He looked between them, down the line from one to the next, until his golden eyes landed on the boy sitting across from him, pausing in thought, the gears turning almost visibly as he worked something out in his head. He pointed at the boy across from him.

“ _’H..Hunk …_ ’”

Everyone froze.

“Holy shit,” Lance balked.

“Did he just--?” Pidge frowned.

“He _can_ talk!”

Keith stared at them, his expression unreadable and yet somehow completely unimpressed by their surprise. It had been quiet, a purring mumble, and clumsy, the result of a tongue trying to navigate a new language, but it was undeniably his first words to them.

“He said _my_ name!” Hunk gasped, his hands flying to cup his own cheeks, starry-eyed in amazement. “He _said my name!_ I was his first word…!” He sniffed, swelling with prideful tears.

“Wha…” Lance just _stared_.

His yellow eyes turned to Pidge, and he lifted his clawed hand in the tiniest wave, wiggling his digits. “Pidge,” He greeted with a building confidence.

“Right, right!” She nodded, dropping down to sit next to Hunk. Now that he was talking, either having finally warmed up to them enough to find his voice, or finally found his grasp on their language, she had a laundry list of questions unfurling in her mind.

“What’s _your_ name?” She asked him, pointing at his person for clarification.

There was a heavy pause, the dark cloud of his pupils flickering back and forth as he worked to translate her question. “Kaxuol,” He said, carefully, slowly, enunciating for their benefit.

“ _Kaxuol_ …” She echoed quietly, and then smiled, warm and bright, “Welcome to Earth, Kaxuol.”

“That’s a much better name than _Keith_ ,” Hunk commended pointedly.

“Hey! Keith is a _great_ name!” Lance defended.

“Yeah, for a dog maybe…”

“Who the hell names their _dog_ ‘Keith?”

“Awful people, that’s who.”

With a roll of her amber eyes, Pidge turned back to Keith, leaning forward with interest. “So, K-.. Kaxuol,” She started, stumbling over the pronunciation, “what brings you to Earth? Are you just – uh – visiting? Where’re you from?”

“You better not be invading us, man,” Lance warned, begrudgingly taking a seat on Hunk’s other side, crossing his arms over his thin chest, “That’d be distinctly _uncool –_ ow!” He rubbed his shoulder where Pidge had slapped him, leaning around Hunk.

Kaxuol looked at them, his ears drifting back in uncertainty.

“Where’s…where’s your family?” Hunk asked, concern settling in his chest like a weight. From what Lance had said, he’d been the only one on the ship. Did that mean his family was still up in space somewhere, looking for him?

Kaxuol dropped his eyes to his lap, drawing his claw against a frayed seam on his shorts.

“Are they…are they back on your planet?”

He shook his head, a pained expression falling across his fine-featured face, his ears drooping pathetically.

Hunk and Pidge shared a startled look, while Lance frowned.

“So they’re – they’re not….oh. _Oh._ ” He felt his heart drop like a stone to settle on the floor. Kaxuol pressed his palm to his shirt, refusing to look at any of them, gripping at the fabric. There wasn’t going to be any sort of invasion, and he got the sinking feeling that there wasn’t even a planet to go back to. Hunk covered his mouth with his hand, stricken, empathetic.

“Why….” Pidge asked slowly, choosing her words with care, “Why Earth?”

Kaxuol chewed his lower lip, tiny white fangs scraping against his skin, and shifted nervously. He held tight to whatever was under his shirt, deliberating some secret that was too big, too close to share with them lightly. Lance understood, though he wasn’t exactly happy about it; they were still strangers, after all. They were new and different, a completely different species, from a completely different planet.

Kaxuol’s head snapped up suddenly, his ears pressing forward, eyes wide as he sat shock still. “ _Max’ter.”_

“What?” Pidge blinked.

“What’s a _‘Ma—‘”_

“ _Lance!_ _¿Estás en casa desde la escuela?_ ”

“Shit!” Lance swore, leaping to his feet in one panicked, fluid motion. “ _Shit!_ My Ma’s home early – we gotta go!” He turned to Kaxuol, who was looking up at him with wide, owlish eyes, blank in confusion. “If she finds you,” He explained, heaving a frustrated sigh, “Then it’s gonna be bad. She’ll call their moms,” He gestured to Hunk and Pidge, “And we’ll all be grounded for the rest of our lives! And, I dunno, you’ll be arrested or something?”

“ _Lance!”_

“ _Coming!”_ He shouted at the ceiling, his voice cracking with its volume. Kaxuol jumped, staring between them as Lane whirled back around. “We gotta get him out of here.”

“And go _where_?” Pidge hissed, grabbing her jacket and backpack off the floor.

“I don’t know, _anywhere!_ ”

“He could stay in my tree house?” Hunk offered, rubbing his index finger along his square jaw, “Yeah! No one goes up there anymore, and it’d be close by if he needed something!” He turned to Kaxuol and held out his hand, reassuringly, “You’ll like it! We can put up posters and twinkle-lights and stuff if you want – if could be like your own house!”

“Great, super, wonderful – let’s _go!_ ” Lance shoved into his friend’s back, urging him towards the door. He could hear his Ma’s footsteps overhead, circling towards the basement door. His heart felt like it was going to burst right out of his chest.

“What about his – “ Pidge started, and gestured to her face.

“…What?”

“He doesn’t exactly blend in,” She frowned.

Lance waved a dismissive hand, “He’ll be fine! Just meet me—“

“We can’t exactly – people are gonna _notice, Lance._ He’s purple. _”_

“ _Ugh!”_ Lance through up his hands, giving the hell up, “Fine! Do whatever! Take care of it! Just – meet me at the corner in five.” He jogged up to the top of the stairs, closing the door solidly behind him, and taking a deep, composing breath.

“Ma!” He greeted lightly, stepping into the kitchen, “H-hey. Sorry. I was…” He gestured over his shoulder towards the rest of the house, hoping to god she hadn’t heard anything. Wait, shit, had she seen their bikes? Shitshitshit—

“You’re home early,” Olivia smiled, dropping her paper bag of groceries on the table and circling around to envelop her oldest in a warm hug. She kissed his forehead and he squirmed. “How was school, _mijo_?”

“It was good, uh, just – just the usual… fun… time,” He finished lamely, realizing that the only thing he had thought about all day was the alien he had hidden in his basement. Lance completely blanked on everything else that had happened.

Olivia squinted at him, holding him at arm’s length, her lips pursed.

“W-what?”

“If those bags under your eyes get any bigger, Lance, they’re going to charge you a carry-on fee!”

Lane laughed, self-conscious under his Ma’s sharp scrutiny, “J-just didn’t, uh, sleep well. Is all. I’m fine! Uh… Ma?” He asked, when she finally let go and started putting away the groceries, sorting out her purchases on the table first. “I’m gonna head over to Hunk’s? Is that okay?”

Olivia considered his request, and Lance held his breath.

“Of course – just be home for dinner.”

“ _Gracias_ , Ma,” He raced over, kissed her cheek, and was halfway out the door when she called after him.

“ _No se olvide de hacer su tarea!_ ”

“ _Si, si!_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

Lance made it to the corner in what he considered to be record time, sliding his bike sideways into a stop, finally catching up with his friends. “Alright the coast is all cl-…”

He stared at them.

“ _That_ is your brilliant disguise?”

“We were a little short on time and resources, Lance, so don’t even start.”

Lance slapped his palm against his head.

Kaxuol sat on the back of Hunk’s bike, a sunshine yellow two seater, wearing what looked like every item of winter clothing that they had stored in the basement. He was covered head to toe, with mittens covering his clawed hands and a knit cap pulled down over his pointed ears. He had a scarf wrapped over his nose and mouth, and they’d even found a pair of thick looking sunglasses to hide his eyes.

“Real inconspicuous,” Lance applauded with a roll of his eyes.

“You do better next time!”

“Can we get going before someone _sees_ us?” Hunk interjected, rocking his bike forward and backward in impatience. “Kaxuol, just – uh – hold on tight like before, okay? I don’t want you falling off…”

The bundle of coats and accessories nodded, and slipped his arms around Hunk’s soft waist, leaning forward, lightly, against his back.

Something squirmed in Lance’s belly and he frowned. “How come Hunk gets to ride with the cool alien?”

“Because Hunk is the only one with a two-seater, Lance.” Pidge snorted, pushing her glasses back into place, rocking her bike into motion, letting her momentum pull her onto the road.

“ _Hunk’s the only one with a two-seater, Lance,_ ” He parroted, pitching his voice higher in mockery, taking up the rear of group, mostly out of fear of retaliation. It wouldn’t be the first time Pidge forced him off the road out of spite.

It wasn’t necessarily a long ride to Hunk’s, or an interesting one, but Kaxuol was acting like Emberwood Road was one of the Seven Wonders, looking around at every tree and every car that passed them, tipping his head backwards to watch the branches twist overhead. Lance could remember when he’d acted like that, after they had moved in from California. Everything had seemed so _different_ ; the woods felt like they were filled with an energy as old as the mountains, a presence, a magic.

Kaxuol must have felt that way, too.

It was… kind of endearing.

Lance watched as something caught their new friend’s attention, how he squeezed his arms tighter around Hunk, and looked back over his shoulder, head tilted, listening.

He stopped pedaling, now coasting, and listened too.

He could hear a low, tinny growl coming up behind them, the squeak of a rusty ball joint with each rotation of a tire, and the hiss of rubber against loose gravel, pinging against an undercarriage. It was an unmistakably specific sound.

The trio drifted to a stop as a familiar, multi-colored muscle car pulled up alongside them, blinking its hazard lights.

“Shiro!” Pidge greeted, as the driver rolled down his window.

“Hey, gang.” He waved, letting his arm hang out against the mostly green door of his ’67 Wildcat.

Takashi ‘Shiro’ Shirogane was a high-schooler, but also, as far as Lance was concerned, probably one of the coolest people on the planet. He was charming, smart and handsome – the prince of Aspen Falls. Honestly, he was everything Lance wanted to be, a true inspiration to human beings everywhere.

“What’s up, my man?” Hunk grinned, and they knocked their knuckles together.

“Not much, I was just heading to work and saw you guys. Thought I’d say ‘hi,’” He shrugged a shoulder, and gave them all a level look, “You’re staying out of trouble, I trust?”

“Oh, of course!”

“Definitely!”

“Us? Trouble? When have we _ever-?_ ”

Shiro stared at them flatly, until his grey eyes unexpectedly moved passed them, to the fourth member of their group. He inclined his head towards the window, the wind catching his dark bangs. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh- this is—“

“His name is—“

“ _Keith!_ ” Lance said, much too loudly, “His…name is Keith. He’s from…. F-Florida. Ah-ha.. ha…”

Shiro looked at him, and Lance felt like digging a hole right through the road and hiding there for the rest of his natural life.

“Nice to meet you, Keith,” Shiro finally drawled, friendly and easy, reaching across with his right hand. Keith hesitated, until he caught Pidge’s eye, and slipped his mitten covered paw into the older boy’s. “Stay warm – and be careful on these roads,” He advised, “These turns are pretty blind.”

“You got it, Shiro.”

He withdrew his hand, and shifted gears, checking his mirrors before he pulled back onto the road. “Oh, and Pidge – tell Matt I said hi.”

She snapped into a salute, grinning crookedly. “Aye aye, Capt’n!”

“Thanks, Lieutenant.” She received a two-fingered salute in return, and the four leaned back as the Wildcat eased off the shoulder, kicking up a spray of dust, gravel, and leaves, despite Shiro’s best efforts. They watched the four-colored car carefully until it vanished around the bend.

“What’s up between Matt and Shiro?” Lance asked after they had resumed their peddling.

“... I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's commented or left kudos or bookmarked Aspen Falls!! It really means so much to me! 
> 
> A few people asked, so I thought I'd clarify: Lance, Hunk and Pidge are all in middle school (11, almost 12, and 10 respectively). Keith is around 11? And Matt, Shiro and Allura are all seniors in high school (aged 16-17, 17-18, and 17, respectively) 
> 
> This chapter was running sort of long so I split it into two parts. Chapter 4 (aka the other half of chapter 3) will be posted sometime this weekend! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Peace <3


	4. Midnight Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @rakukajas THANK YOU for beta-ing this as always!!! this chapter kicked my ass but your feedback really helped shape it up and i cant thank you enough! also for being my one-man marketing team. u rock!

* * *

_What good is a photograph of you_  
_Everytime I look at it_  
_It makes me feel blue_

_**-Depeche Mode** _

* * *

 

 

The sun was just brushing the tops of the pines when the four kids turned down Hunk’s driveway, the spaces in between the branches filling with a dazzling, yellow-white light. They coasted through the deep, brown shadows and pockets of sunshine warmth, up the winding dirt-gravel driveway, and finally, to the cabin that sat huddled and nested between the rigid maze of Douglas Firs.

Hunk was bemused, but nonetheless pleased to note that the stand-alone garage - a few pieces of lumbar with a sheet metal roof - was sitting empty.

It wasn’t unusual; his mom’s work schedule could be erratic at times, depending on the weather and the foreman’s mood.

He lead the way to the side of the cabin, easing his bike to a gentle stop. Still clinging to his back, Kaxuol was looking around with interest, craning his neck as he marveled at the height of the pine grove. As soon as he realized they had reached their destination, he hopped off the back of the bike, and immediately rocked back on his heels, looking down at his feet.

With pine trees came a permanent carpet of soft, rust colored cones that covered nearly every inch of their property despite their efforts to sweep them away. Kaxuol wiggled his weird little toe-claws and scratched them through the needles, brows raised in curiosity.

“You can take those off now, y’know, if you want,” Hunk shrugged, gesturing towards the miss-matched outfit of winter wear. “It’s just us here, so you don’t have to worry.”

Kaxuol tilted his head to the side, considering, and then pulled the scarf down off of his nose, taking a deep breath of clear, unfiltered air. His sunglasses and hat were quick to follow; the latter of which turned his moppy mullet into an interesting mesh between (what Lance believed to be) wonderfully humiliating hat hair and, somehow - simultaneously - a gravity-defyingmess. It didn’t help that the faint sound of static electricity framed his face.

Pidge was staring at their newest addition with immediate fondness, and Lance… Lance was staring. Jaw touching the floor, openly gaping, like he’d just seen the cutest, tiniest puppy in history.

Which, Hunk thought, he wasn’t _that_ far off.

“So… Kaxuol, this is my house!” He made a sweeping gesture to the small wood cabin, with its sunny shutters, imperishable Christmas lights, and yard full of wilting wildflowers. In the distance, the head of a hand-made scrap metal statue creaked and snapped off. “C’mon in, I’ll give you the tour.”

“Is that new?” Pidge asked, pointing to one of the pieces of art that sat, rising out of the tall wheatgrass like ruins.

Hunk paused in unlocking the front door, and leaned back to look. He squinted, following her the line of her finger. “Oh, yeah – Mom finished him last weekend.”

Lance expression lit up like the twinkle lights hanging over head, “So it doesn’t have a name yet?”

“No, Lance,” Pidge cut in, sharply, interrupting before he could get his claws in _another_ one of the Garrett Family art instillations. “Your names are _awful_. No more. You’re cut off.”

“Pff,” He scoffed, “I think _Turkey Club_ _the Metal Rooster_ begs to differ.”

She sighed and held out her hands, her thick brows a flat, smug line. _Need she say more._

Kaxuol just looked at them, uncomprehending. Hunk smiled apologetically, and gently shouldered the door open with a croak of its old hinges. If he left them to it, Pidge and Lance would bicker and tease all day.

He led the way inside, with Kaxuol curiously trailing at his heels. He flipped on a light, casting the living room and kitchen in a warm glow. Hunk always thought that his home reflected his mother’s personality; cozy, comfortable, and spilling with open love and passion. The couches and tables were worn but well loved, and the knotted pine walls were covered in pictures and paintings and flat pieces of sculpted metal.

“Make yourself at home,” Hunk instructed, weaving around the tightly clustered furniture and into the kitchen.

There was a note left neatly on the table, written in the slanted, swirling script of his mother’s hand. Hunk leaned over and picked it up with one hand, the other fumbling blindly in a pantry for snacks.

 

_‘Sweetheart,_

_I have to stay for the transport shift tonight. Dinner is in the fridge. I’ll call in the morning._

_Sweet dreams and lots of love,_

_Mom ♡’_

 

Alright! At least they didn’t have to worry about sneaking around - Ms. Garrett was a force to be feared when it came to his shenanigans.

Hunk grabbed a pack of Oreos out of the cabinet and scurried back over, smiling excitedly. He wasn’t sure what Kaxuol’s species ate, exactly, but he figured Oreos would be a good place to start, at least until he figured out what he was going to make them for dinner. Who didn’t like Oreos, after all?

Kaxuol had shed the rest of his winter garb, the clothes and coats a messy pile at his feet, as he sat squashed between Lance and Pidge, perched on the edge of the couch.

“Dude,” Lance was saying, “We gotta get you some new clothes. The whole intergalactic surfer thing – while cool, like, trust me, it’s a neat as hell look – isn’t gonna jive too well with the locals.”

Kaxuol glanced down at himself, his lips pursed in offense. He absently tugged at the hem of his sleeve.

“He’s kinda right,” Pidge allowed, “You can’t wear the same thing every day. I’llsee if I can steal some of my older brother’s clothes.”

“Only if you want him to look like a librarian,” Lance scoffed.

“I think he’d look cute,” Hunk rubbed at his chin, dropping down into the arm chair across from them. “But, yeah, I probably have some old stuff lying around. Oh – he’s gonna need, like. A tooth brush too, and underwear. Do aliens wear underwear?”

Kaxoul nodded, his eyes a little wide.

“Boxers or briefs?—“

“I’ll make a list,” Pidge sighed, reaching for a notepad on the coffee table at the same time that Lance wrinkled his nose in disgust and said, “Can we maybe not discuss Kaxoul’s underwear?”

“What, are you? Twelve?”

“Yeah, on a scale of one to ten. _Boom_!” He made a show of swishing a ball through an imaginary hoop and grinned, all too proud of himself.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Hunk interrupted, holding out the box of cookies. “I found some snacks, and, like, in the meantime maybe you could tell us about your planet?” His brown eyes were shimmering with eager hope, and Pidge found herself nodding, quickly.

“We’re really interested. Our space program isn’t _nearly_ as advanced as yours – We’ve only made it to our moon.”

Kaxuol took the box with a care that came with uncertainty, and pulled out a single cookie. He gave it an experimental sniff, frowning in concentration as he scrutinized the chocolate, cream-filled treat. With agonizing slowness, he took the absolutely tiniest bite he could manage.

The three kids watched with baited breath as Kaxuol’s eyes slowly widened.

He stuffed the rest of the Oreo in his mouth, and Lance _beamed._

“What would you like to know?” Kaxuol asked slowly around a mouthful of chocolate, already reaching for another cookie. His words were clipped and carefully enunciated, stilted, like a spliced sentence being parroted back.

“What was your planet called?” Pidge asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Gallera,” He replied, “Part of,” A pause, his hands moving outward from each other, “Bigger.”

“So – like – _your_ planet is - was…like a colony? Or like a state? Um…you guys listen to a larger government?” Hunk questioned, tipping his head to the side, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Kaxuol thought about it, and then nodded. “We,” He pressed his palm flat to his chest, “Galra.”

“So, what’d your planet look like?”

“How far away is it?”

“Is it, like, super futuristic? Like Star Trek?” Lance asked, and then gasped, excitedly. His questions spilled out, rapid fire, “Do you guys have, like, giant buildings made of glass? And transporters? I bet you have cool laser guns!”

Kaxuol stared at him, his yellow eyes wide, hollow, lips barely parted, and everyone could see the exact second Lance had gotten carried away. It was written, plain as day, across both their faces, Lance physically flinching away as his words and his tone registered in his own ears.

Pidge shook her head, her lips a fine, disapproving line, while Hunk waited for the fallout.

It felt like the temperature of the room had dropped, the light and easy mood having sunken along with the sun. There was no planet to be excited about anymore.

Kaxuol looked down at his lap, his ears falling back on his skull as he looked away. The hand that had been pressed to his chest curled into a fist, gripping at his shirt until his knuckles turned lilac.

“L-…Listen, I…” Lance started, his hand lifted to…to do what, he didn’t seem to know. To offer condolences? To touch his back, his shoulder, to offer a hug?

Lance let his hand fall to his lap, the thin line of his body curling itself around the arm of the couch as if he wanted to melt away. His ears were burning pink.

“Far,” Kaxuol finally said in a small voice.

They sat, the silence stretching, like a pair of lungs holding onto a breath, until Hunk finally spoke up. His tone was quiet and gentle, as he leaned forward. The world seemed to shrink to the orbit of the coffee table. “It was far away from here?”

He nodded.

“You… never answered us,” Lance started with surprising delicacy, “About why you came to Earth…?”

Kaxuol shrunk further in on himself, his shoulders hunching up as he curled into the couch between them. He opened his mouth, his throat working to expel words that just wouldn’t budge. “Didn’t…want to,” He started, his voice so quiet that they almost couldn’t hear him. “Escape. S-safe.”

He hesitated, swallowing, his thumb rubbing against something under his shirt. He was struggling with something, unsure what decision to make.

Pidge touched his shoulder. Her glasses caught the warm lamplight as she nodded her head in silent encouragement.

“It’s okay,” Hunk added, “Whatever it is, we’re not gonna tell anyone.”

“It’ll be out secret,” Lane told him, separating himself from the couch cushions as the tension dissipated, drifting close again.

“Secret?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, his mouth twisting up at the corners in a wry smile, “It’s – it’s something you can never, _ever_ tell anyone else. It’s – something only shared between two people. Or, sometimes, a group. Between friends.”

Kaxuol looked at him, brows furrowed upward, his eyes swimming like sunshine underwater. _“Friends…_ ” he echoed, and the way he said it, the word was its own creature, something sacred and wondrous, something heavy, palpable.

The three nodded, clustered together, their heads bowed towards each other.

Kaxuol breathed a sigh, and pulled down his collar. From underneath he fished out a silver disk on a silver chain, a little smaller than his palm, the planes convexly curved. He held it in both hands, holding it out between them all. It was smooth, apart from the faint, carvings of sharp, hollow triangular characters.

The kids leaned closer. Around them, the cottage felt cold and still, like it was holding, too, its breath in anticipation.

Kaxuol brushed his thumb along the seamless side, and the characters flared up in pastel pink, a circuit racing across the metal plane, inward, inward, to the center, individual trails of arching light unifying into one single beam of light.

Out of that light, a picture flickered into form.

It was of a man – a Galran man. He was tall, dignified, with high cheekbones and a straight, sloping nose. His hair, unlike Kaxuol’s untamed mane, was clipped short to his skull, blending with the thick fur that covered his ears. His goatee was clean and shaped, and coupled with the sharp looking uniform, he cut an impressive figure. His piercing, golden eyes, were softened by creases, and the smile that tilted the corns of his mouth was soft.

Tucked under his arm, was—

She barely came up to the Galran’s chest, a tiny, tiny thing, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders. She was laughing, leaning against him as he held her, their head bowed together as they looked at the bundle of blankets that she held in her arms. She was human. He had her smile.

The picture was moving, not a picture at all, but a video on loop, the pair grinning and laughing in an embrace, the man pressing a kiss to her temple as she beamed down at the infant cradled against her chest.

The image was faded, washed out by the pale lilac light of the locket’s projector, but the adoration in which she looked at her husband with like a presence, the ghost of love and devotion wavering between them.

“Kaxuol…” Lance whispered, tearing his eyes away from the glowing portrait to look at their friend’s profile. “Who… is that?”

His yellow eyes remained transfixed by the tiny, floating figures he held in the palm of his hand.

“ _Mother.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t much longer after Kaxuol had dropped that metaphorical bomb that Lance and Pidge had been called home. The sun had long since set, the night sky swirling clear and cloudless overhead, while the trees arched and bent around them, looming like dark figures around the cabin.

“There,” Hunk said, making a show of dusting off his hands as he came back into the living room, having just turned on every light in the house. “Nice and bright.”

Kaxuol hadn’t moved from his spot on the center of the couch, his strange, backwards legs drawn up to his chest, chin resting on his knees as he stared at his now-dark locket.

“Um,” Hunk started, rubbing awkwardly at his neck. He was probably the best equipped to handle a sad, homesick alien, but then again, Kaxuol was an _alien_ , with problems of a decidedly larger scale than ‘ _I failed a test.’ “_ Do you wanna take a bath while I make dinner? It might help you feel better – It, uh, usually helps me when I’m sad so….”

He received a one-shouldered shrug in answer, and that was good enough for him.

Taking him by the hand, Hunk coaxed him off the couch and down the hall to the small brass fitted bathroom near the rear of the house. He sat Kaxuol on the closed toilet seat while he plugged the tub and adjusted the water temperature. He threw down some towels, and a quick search through his room found him a pair of draw-string flannel shorts and a t-shirt he could wear. He showed him the different shampoos and soaps, and added a splash of his mom’s Lavender & Honey Relaxing Bubble Bath, which was a present from Mother’s Day saved for special occasions, but - Hunk thought, looking down at the purple alien in his bathroom - it seemed pretty appropriate to count this as one, too.

“Alrighty, um. Take as long as you need, and I’ll call you when dinner’s ready. If you need anything, just holler.”

Kaxuol looked down, brushing his fingers over the smooth surface of his locket, and mumbled a soft, “Th-… Thanks.”

“No problem, man, anytime,” Hunk smiled, glad he was able to at least get a word out of him. He’d pretty much shut down after their conversation about Gallera, and Hunk had been a little worried he wouldn’t open up to them again.

Hunk kept the door mostly closed behind him, but not latched, so he could hear his guest if he need something, and made his way back out to the kitchen. He put on Gordon Lightfoot’s _Sundown_ album, chasing off the still silence of the cabin with the Canadian folk singer’s gentle baritone and easy acoustic guitar.

Normally he hated being in the house by himself; he hated how far into the woods they lived, how the trees, so lovely and benign during the day turned sinister and looming. He hated how their branches cracked and scraped against each other like the rattle of bones, and how the owls watched him from somewhere dark and far, far above. He hated the way the night pressed in on him, cold and deep and _breathing_.

But the lights and the music were a comfort, and the knowledge that Kaxuol was there with him, safe and nearby within their bubble of lamplight did more than the former two combined.

He checked quickly through the cabinets, trying to decide what to make. His mom had left him dinner in the fridge, but green-bean casserole and baked pork chops weren’t exactly comfort food. Tapping his index finger to his chin, Hunk pulled out a box of flour.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kaxuol eventually emerged from the bathroom with a cloud of steam, a fuzzy, purple puff of a bear finally coming out of its den after a season of hibernation.

He walked delicately, but Hunk could tell he was there by the soft click of his claws against the wooden floor. He took his time walking down the hall, drifting through the living room and towards the kitchen.

“You’re just in time,” Hunk called over his shoulder, smile bright, as he scooped the last pancake out of the pan and onto a plate. “I made pancakes and bacon. That’s usually, like, a breakfast thing, but it’s a universal truth that Breakfast Foods,” - he put a heavy emphasis on those two words, giving them capital letters, so Kaxuol would understand their importance - “are best served when eaten for dinner. I dunno why,” Hunk mused. “It’s kinda like breaking the rules? But in a really delicious and fulfilling… way…”

Kaxuol wasn’t listening. He was wandering the perimeter of the living room, looking at the framed pictures on the walls, staring up at one and then moving onto the next, scrutinizing each with a warm gaze, like gentle candle light. He was wearing the clothes that Hunk had given him, the shirt hanging large and baggy, down to the middle of his thighs, and the collar hanging loose off of one thin shoulder. His fur was still damp, but fluffed and sticking up in a way that was incredibly endearing.

“Did’ya hear me, buddy?” Hunk asked, squeezing around the couch to stand at Kaxuol’s shoulder, wondering what picture he found so interesting.

Hunk’s mom, Lani, had always been an avid artist, with no specific area of study. Her interests were as broad as her subject base, from iron sculptures to photography to painting to carving. She always told him that there was so much magic in the world that it was impossible to begin to capture it with just one medium; to preserve its essence only in oil paints, and to think, confidently, that you could, was arrogance and a disservice.

The photographs on the wall were hers. Some of them were of the town; The Knotty Pine, the old police station before the fire, Old Woman Jolene feeding the birds in the down square, T.G. Garage out on Route 11. Some of them were of the native people on the Nahmakanta Reserve, south of Baxter. There were photos of Portland, and of the rocky shores of Bar Harbor, and of the sunny cottages on the coast of Nova Scotia. Most of them were of her and her son, a scrap book of their life hung up on the walls.

Kaxuol was looking at one, the two of them sitting in the shell and kelp spotted shore, the day after a storm, the pines a wall of misted green and the sea grey in the sun. Hunk was in Lani’s lap, her thick arms wrapped around his shoulders, cheek to cheek as she curled herself around his back. A crown of pink and yellow wildflowers sat crooked in their thick, black curls, as they laughed together.

Kaxuol lifted a finger, and gently brushed it over his mom’s tanned and freckled face. “Pretty,” he observed, his eyes soft and his smile sad.

“Thanks,” Hunk beamed, crossing his arms as he looked at the picture, remembering that particular adventure fondly, how ten minutes later they’d been splashing through the frigid waves, screaming and shrieking with laughter. “She really is, isn’t she? C’mon, food’s getting cold.”

Kaxuol nodded, reluctantly tearing his gaze away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The pancakes were a success. Unsurprisingly. Who _didn’t_ like pancakes, especially for dinner? Hunk felt slightly validated that his “universal rule” regarding breakfast foods really did appear to be universal, though he wasn’t sure that Galrans – The Galra? Gallerians? – had pancakes in their culture, but he was certain there must have been some sort of space equivalent.

By the time he had gotten everything cleaned up it had been late, and they were both reaching the peak of their exhaustion. Kaxuol hadn’t stopped yawning the entire time Hunk was putting the dishes in the dishwasher.

He considered just setting up Kaxuol on the couch, but there was always a chance his mom could come home early, and it wouldn’t be as easy to set him up in the tree house with a parent around. Even though it was dark and they were tired, it was better to just get him settled in now, and work on adding the small comforts as he needed them.

Arming themselves with lanterns and the floodlights on the back porch - bright halogen bulbs that lit up the entire yard like it was daytime – Hunk grabbed the laundry basket and stuffed it with as many pillows and blankets as he could manage. He filled his spare backpack with some books and snacks, and some bottles of water and juice boxes, as well as one or two extra shirts, just in case – and the two started off across the lawn.

It wasn’t so bad, with Kaxuol tip-toeing calmly beside him, his little nose wrinkling at every new smell the breeze blew their way.

Hunk led the way up to the old oak that sat near the wood line, the only deciduous amid an army of coniferous, an old and gnarled thing, patient in its ancient age.

“You’re not afraid of heights, right?” Hunk asked, one foot already on the planks of wood that they had nailed to the trunk, looking over his shoulder.

Kaxuol shook his head.

“Oh. Good. That would’ve been a problem.”

He wondered if Kaxuol might have some trouble climbing, between the backpack on his shoulders and the way his legs were, but he was surprisingly agile, almost hopping up from step to step, scaling the trunk like a mutant cat.

“Welcome to Castle Garret,” Hunk announced, turning on some of the camping lanterns that he already had stashed inside, as Kaxuol pulled himself up onto the floor of the house, looking around with interest.

The treehouse had been the result of several summers’ work between him and his mom, and as such, it was probably one of his favorite places on earth. Even if he didn’t use it as much as he used to, the small space was overflowing with the echo of fond memories and the buzzing warmth of summer evenings. It had real windows and real curtains, and a tiny little space heater. The walls were covered in drawings, both his mothers and his, the fluid lines of her charcoal sketches juxtapositioned with his less refined ones. The ceiling was crisscrossed in battery operated twinkle-lights, casting the interior in a fuzzy pink glow.

“Nice,” Kaxuol decided, tracing his finger over a line of curving, bending sunflowers.

“Thanks,” Hunk beamed, feeling his cheeks warm with pride. “It shouldn’t be too bad sleeping out here – it’s not that cold yet,” he explained as he spread out a foam pad, and then rolled open his seashell-patterned sleeping bag on top of it. He set up the pillows, and piled up the remaining blankets, arranging it all in a comfy looking nest. “You can keep the twinkle-lights on, if you want, and if you need something, I’ll keep the back door unlocked.”

Kaxuol nodded, experimentally prodding at the nest before folding his legs underneath him, fluidly dropping down to sit amongst the quilts and pillows.

“And if you get scared of the dark – don’t worry – our house is protected.”

“P-... Protected?” Kaxuol questioned, his head tilting slowly to one side, an ear flopping limply forward.

“Yeah, or at least that’s what mom says,” Hunk shrugged, pulling one of the curtains aside, and gesturing beyond the glass to where the metal figures sat, scattered and leaning in the tall grass. “Mom made those herself and put them up after Shiro’s mom--…” He stopped himself, the words dying on his tongue. That wasn’t his secret to tell. Not like it was a secret, exactly - the whole town knew, and everyone had been involved in the search, in one way or another, but it was Shiro’s loss to disclose, not his.

“… A few years ago,” He finished haltingly, “When I first started getting scared. She says that they were made with pure intentions, that each one is filled with her love for me and for the sanctity of life, and that makes them good. They’ll protect us.” Hunk nodded, confident.

“Safe,” Kaxuol agreed.

“Do you want me to stay up here with you for a while?” Hunk asked, swallowing back a yawn. He didn’t want to just leave him up there if he wasn’t comfortable, but Kaxuol shook his head, smoothing out the blankets bundled around him.

“Okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you in the morning.” He started towards the hatch that opened above the stairs, but paused, half in the house and half out. “Um, Kaxuol?”

The alien looked up, his ears pushed forward expectantly.

“About your mom…We’ll – we’ll help you find her, okay?”

Kaxuol stared, his mouth opening just enough that Hunk could see the white of his fangs. Slowly, he nodded. Okay.

“Okay, uh, well. Goodnight!” Hunk waved, and then disappeared through the door. Kaxuol watched him scurry across the lawn, and sat, watching, until the lights inside the house turned off one by one. He turned off his own lights and it was almost oppressively dark without them, an absolute and clear night without the hazy glow of distant light pollution.

Above the sharp, swaying peaks of the trees and the distant rise of the mountain tops, he could see the infinite sparkle of the stars, the cloudy splash of the Milky Way as it arched overhead. They were so different than the stars he was used to, and Kaxuol felt hollowed out, looking up at the sky.

It was different, all so different, and he was so, so far from the constellations he knew. Were they even still there? Or were they gone, blown away to dust, just like his home planet surely was?

Despite the ice cold doubt - the longing so strong he thought he might suffocate, that filled his chest, ached in his bones - the stars felt like a comfort, familiar in their ancient and burning constancy.

They were there, he was there, and somewhere, too, was his family.

When he finally slept, Kaxuol dreamed of his mother.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a little later than i intended it to be but its still the weekend so it counts 8|  
> which, speaking of, i have a few announcements! 
> 
> the first is that aspen falls will be dropping down to one (1) update per week, due to my work schedule and just like. life. in general.  
> the second is that i'm now tracking the tags '#aspen falls' and '#aspenfalls' on tumblr! so any fanart or whatever you'd like can go in that tag and i'll see it. I'm also @entrywound on tumblr, if you want to send messages or just chat! i tag everything related to aspen falls with #aspen falls 
> 
> as always, thanks so much for reading and see you next week!
> 
> peace <3


	5. The Riddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my wonderful beta, ella, who taught me about meter and poetry and shit!! i have no idea what im doing!!! anyway!!!!

* * *

_But in your dreams whatever they be_

_You gotta make me a promise, promise to me_

_You'll dream, dream a little of me_

**-Ella Fitzgerald**

* * *

 

 

Kaxuol stood in an endless, still sea of red wheat under a low, magenta sky.

Far, far away the violet mountains rose, curling like gentle waves, from the field, shadows in the distance. Closer yet, he could see the shimmering, spiraling towers of the capital city of Kuln’ca, striking against the fragile sky like a beautiful weapon.

His home.

Distantly, thunder rumbled across the valley, rolling over the mountains from the ocean beyond, and it sent his heart racing in its cage.

There was no shelter here. Nothing for miles, and Kaxuol stood, frozen by inaction and instinctive fear. The clouds moved overhead, filling the void sky at an impossible speed, low and

bruised and ugly with rain, flying across the valley.

The grass and wheat around him remained, curiously, still. The air felt thick with moisture, suffocating, close, charged. It was a held breath, a hushed crowd, the moment before a crash, anticipation and fear and _electric_.

Kaxuol couldn’t breathe.

A hand on his shoulder, big and warm, calloused in its familiarity. “It’s okay, Kaxuol,” His father told him in their native tongue. He couldn’t see him, but his shadow rested across him, side by side with his own, “They only have questions.”

Kaxuol frowned, and looked up at his father, but he was already walking forward, past him as he waded out through the waist high wheat, the stocks swaying and falling back into place in his wake. Above, the sky moved, a video on fast forward.

Distantly, the haunting wail of a siren, a warning as the city flashed and swirled with search lights.

“What does that mean?” He asked, but his father didn’t turn around, he didn’t stop.

_“˙ǝɹǝɥ ǝʌɐɥ ʎǝɥʇ sǝǝɹʇ ǝƃuɐɹʇs ʇɐɥM”_

“F-father…?”

Thace had stopped moving, only he hadn’t. He drifted through the wheat, a still image, the distance between them stretching and expanding, a canyon, a galaxy apart. No, no _, no_. _Wait._ Something was happening. Something was coming. He could smell smoke and singed oil. The air tasted like copper in his throat.

“Come back…!”

Kaxuol ran.

He sprinted after his father’s retreating form, pushing through the tall, prickling grass, his heart pounding, his arms and legs burning. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get closer, he couldn’t seem to catch up, his father was just a shadow now, so far away and he couldn’t reach him, he couldn’t—

His bare feet stuck in the mud, thick and tar-like, clinging to him like hands, grabbing at his legs and holding, pulling tight, down, down, down, down.

It was up to his neck - oil, tar, sucking him down, and Kaxuol wasn’t sure what was going to kill him first - the panic building like a pressure in his chest, squeezing at his heart, his lungs, until he was sure they would burst, or the black, oily void he was sinking into.

_“'ǝʇɐƃ uoɹᴉ ǝɥʇ puᴉɥǝq ǝᴉl sƃuᴉɥʇ ǝƃuɐɹʇS ˙_

_ʇᴉɐʍ ʎǝɥʇ puɐ ʇᴉs ʎǝɥʇ sǝuᴉd ǝɥʇ puoʎǝq ʎlʇuǝᴉʇɐԀ”_

Above him, someone dropped a match.

The sky _burned._

The planet screamed, but Kaxuol couldn’t hear it, the oil was filling his ears, his nose, clogging his mouth. He could feel it sticking in his lungs and burning, always burning, the calamity of the sky was at the other end of a tunnel, far, distant and muffled and growing smaller, smaller, as Kaxuol reached for it, desperate not to sink.

A hand wrapped around his ankle, and yanked him down.

He had half a tick to think, frantic, racing, eyes shut tight, _I’m going to drown,_ as the ink enclosed his head and he sank, sank, sank--

He was weightless.

Kaxuol opened his eyes, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, wondered if he had opened his eyes at all, or maybe he had just gone blind. His world was dark. Black. Endless, and unchanging. There was nothing. There was no sky, no ground, no other living soul.

There was him, and there was the void.

He opened his mouth to scream, instinctive, panicked, frustrated, and watched the silver outline of air bubbles as they floated away. Upwards. He expected water to fill him, choke him, but it felt only like taking a breath, like breathing. Water had become his air had become nothing, void, absence.

“I will tell you four things,” Thace said, iridescent, the swirling rainbow of an oil slick in sunlight. “They will reveal themselves to you, and will be true.”

Kaxuol nodded, because he had no idea what else to do.

“ _˙splɹoʍ uǝǝʍʇǝq ʇsol sᴉ lnos ∀ :ǝuO_

_˙sǝʞɐus sploɥ ʇsǝu ɥʇ8Ɩ ǝɥ┴ :oʍ┴_

_˙llɐɟ llᴉʍ ʇɥƃᴉuʞ ǝɥʇ puɐ 'ǝsᴉɹ llᴉʍ doɥsᴉq ǝɥʇ 'uᴉɐɯǝɹ llᴉʍ uǝǝnb ǝɥ┴ :ǝǝɹɥ┴_

_.uʍoʇ ʎdǝǝls ɐ ɹǝʌo ʍoɹƃ llᴉʍ uoᴉʇɐllǝʇsuoɔ ǝƃuɐɹʇs puɐ ʍǝu ∀ :ɹnoℲ”_

Thace was replaced by the distant shape of Gallera as it burned, the surface lit by the perfect, silent dome of explosions. The sky was filled by with silver war ships, raining molten fire upon the cities below.

He knew this – not a dream, but a memory.

It was the last glimpse of Gallera that he had seen before his escape pod had hurtled into the endless sea of stars.

Except now, instead, he remained, floating above as his home died.

As he watched, Gallera transformed into a sun, a black hole, the void socket of a skull, the pale pink of his locket, the bleeding maw of a wolf - out of which a forest of pines grew, reaching, scratching, their shadows dark and infinitely black, the darkness on the far side of a candle’s flame. Round, yellow eyes watched him, the inky black that was their domain suddenly shooting towards him, all-encompassing and definitive until he was surrounded. Their molten irises moving closer, closer, closer, closer—

 

* * *

 

Kaxuol woke up screaming.

For a few heart-stopping moments all he could see was darkness, and all he could hear was the sharp, rattling of his own breath as he desperately heaved for air. Panic filtered through his head, butterfly light, and his heart fluttered under his ribs at the thought that the black, oily, abyss from his nightmare had followed him into the waking world.

But then his eyes started to adjust, and he could see the seams of the pine boards, the close corners of the room, and the pile of blankets pooled around his lap, lit now by the faintest pale of moonlight.

He was safe. He was in Hunk’s tree house. He was safe.

His fur felt sticky and matted with sweat, and his borrowed shirt stuck between his shoulder blades. His cheeks felt stiff and wet, tracked with the salt of tried tears, as he carefully un-wrapped himself and stood, his knees wobbling, shaky, to peek out the window.

He could see the shadowy forms of the metal statues, their surface catching the sliver of moonlight and glimmering, calm, and ever-watchful.

Kaxuol took a deep, steadying breath.

He was safe.

Turning back towards the tangled mess of his bed, he contemplated trying to fall asleep again, but his fur prickled at the thought of having to lie there in the dark, listening to the distant hoot and baying cries of whatever animals called the woods home. Rubbing at his arms, Kaxuol bit his lip, swaying from side to side in indecision.

It was a sudden, startling cry of an animal that spurred him into motion, sliding down the ladder-planks on the trunk before he really realized he was moving. His bare paws hit the cold, wet grass and he shuddered, chilled, as he trotted across the yard.

Outside of the close confines of the tree house that tasted stale and musty with the scent of pine and his own fear, the autumn air was crisp and cool against his fur, and while he still felt rattled, there was something soothing about the gentle dance of the night breeze though his hair.

Kaxuol found the back door unlocked, just as Hunk had said, and he slipped quietly inside.

The house was still and dark, the air sweet with the fading scent of pancakes and maple. With each gentle step the floors creaked and clacked under his nails as he crept down the hallway, following the sound of Hunk’s deep and even breathing. The hallway was lit with soft little lights, throwing off just illumination that he could see, to guide him, but not enough to be intrusive.

He appreciated that, as he slipped inside Hunk’s bedroom, pausing as he looked around, evaluating his next move.

Hunk’s room was, Kaxuol thought, just as sunny and warm as its owner. The walls were covered in pictures and drawings, and flowers pressed flat behind glass. It wasn’t as messy as Lance’s basement had been, but it wasn’t pristine, either. His room was cozy and lived in, with shelves lined with books and tiny plastic figurines. He padded over to the desk, idling pacing the perimeter, to inspect the half-assembled mess of metal and circuitry that must have been some personal project of his.

His inspection brought him around to the twin bed, tucked under the window, and he hovered there, suddenly unsure what to do.

He had known Hunk was asleep, but he hadn’t considered that he would have to _wake him up_. Kaxuol felt guilt spool in his gut; Hunk had done so much for him already, and he had been so sweet, so kind, he didn’t want to impose on him further.

But he didn’t think he could stand sleeping out in the tree house again. Not tonight, at least.

Maybe he could sleep on the couch –

Hunk rolled over, his arms stretching out under his pillow as he yawned, one eye blearily fluttering open.

“Mm, Kax’,” He murmured, and Kaxuol went still, frozen, “Somethin’ wrong?” Hunk asked, lifting his head and rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles.

“Uh,” Kaxuol’s mind blanked, and opened his mouth, uselessly. He rubbed at his arm, unsure, suddenly wishing he had just stayed outside.

Hunk blinked at him, sleep falling away by the second, and sat up further, a soft frown touching his round face as he considered the alien in front of him. He looked him up and down, and then asked so _gently_ , “Did you have a bad dream?”

The question felt like a punch to his gut, the air getting ripped out of him as if someone had opened the seal on an airlock. His eyes stung and his chest felt tight, the realization of just how _not okay_ he was dawning on him as he nodded, slowly, feeling shaken, feeling unsteady and tired and so, so homesick he thought he might crumble right then and there.

And then Hunk’s large hand was closing gently around his wrist, and he was guided forward – and suddenly there were soft hands cupping his cheeks and pushing his hair back out of his eyes as Hunk scooted over to make room for him on the mattress.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” He was saying, “But it’s okay, you’re okay. They’re just thoughts, even if they seem big or scary. They’re just _thoughts._ ”

Kaxuol sniffed, and nodded, and scrubbed his cheeks try with the heel of his hand as Hunk pulled back the blankets and tugged him onto the bed. They settled down, wrapped up in cozy quilts that smelled like the sun and cedar-wood, Kaxuol with his back pressed to Hunk’s soft front, and the boy’s arm curled tightly over his shoulder, tucking him close against his chest.

He thought it would be weird, that he would feel self-conscious, to share such a small space with a strange boy he had only just met, on a distant planet so far from his home, but Kaxuol found it easy, simple, and Hunk hadn’t thought twice, like this was the most natural response, as organic as drawing a breath.

He found the tension slipping from his body with each slow exhale against the back of his neck, the soft pressure of Hunk’s forehead pressed against the back of his skull. He felt sleep pulling him down, down, down…

 

* * *

 

Judging by the glowing Ticker on the table next to them, Kaxuol managed to sleep exactly two rotations before a loud, nasally _trumpeting_ ripped him violently into the waking world. He nearly jumped out his skin, his fur standing straight on end as he looked wildly around the dark den of Hunk’s bedroom, trying to pinpoint where the noise had come from before—

Oh.

The noise was rhythmic, and coming from his bedmate.

_Oh._

Kaxuol’s ears flopped in annoyance and foolishness, realizing that it was Hunk, who, apparently, snored. Loudly.

He sat up, paws dangling off the edge of the bed, barely brushing the floor, as he watched his friend’s chest rise, up and down, up and down, for what felt like an hour. With each passing tick his worn out patience grew more dogged, the sound of his snoring sounding louder and louder in the pressing silence, until Kaxuol felt the familiar sensation of jittery anxiety crawl up his spine.

He felt restless and exhausted, and more importantly, frustrated at the realization that he wouldn’t be falling back asleep any time soon.

His head dropped down into his hands, and he sighed, slow and deep, before he scrubbed his claws back through his hair and stood up.

Silently, he let himself out of the house, closing the door gently behind him. He had considered leaving a note of some kind, but what would he say? How would he say it? He could understand their language simply because of its close similarities with the Common Galactic Tongue, although their pronunciations and colloquialisms were a bit – off – at times, he could usually understand the basics.

But writing – he had no idea where to begin.

Kaxuol could only hope that Hunk would figure it out. Or, perhaps he could persuade Lance into using his communications device to call his friend. He clicked his tongue, stepping out across the grass, and resolved to figure it out when he got there. On quiet paws, he wound his way through the front yard, through the statues standing silent and still, like a collection of the most unique gravestones – past the frilled bird, past a triangle in a top-hat and bowtie, past a pair of gentle looking deer – until he was on the road.

He followed the street, staying near the edge as they had done earlier, walking the line where asphalt met the damp, prickling grass. Kaxuol thought that he might regret his decision to leave the comfort of Hunk’s home, but the longer he was out in the woods the less foreboding they became, the moon shining just enough light down that he could see the path ahead of him. The ground felt cold against the bare pads of his paws, but for now he didn’t mind it – the chill grounding him, keeping his mind focused on his journey and not the crying of owls or the feeling of alien eyes on the back of his neck. He could push all of that away, and focus, focus, focus.

If his pace hurried, he pretended not to notice, instead keeping his senses alert for landmarks they had passed on their route, ears twitching at every distant snap of a branch or rustle of dying leaves.

On foot he had no idea how far it actually was, and he realized that he had no concept of how long he had been walking, either, only that – while his head felt clear – a chill was setting into his bones, deep and biting with every gust of wind. Kaxuol shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself.

Something moved in the bushes off the road, and this time the ice that accumulated in his veins, frosting over his bones, had nothing to do with the weather.

He stared, ears pressed forward and alert, senses screaming out warnings as he stared into the dark, searching for any sign of movement, for what might have made that noise. It was so dark he could barely see, but light enough yet that he could see the vague shapes of the shadowed trunks, the curving clusters of bushes and the sharp arches of a sea of ferns, stretching out through the mist until the night claimed all distinguishing characteristics.

Kaxuol stood, body tense and legs coiled to flee, his fighting a battle of fight or flight, and waited. He became aware, slowly, of two things. The first, was the rush of his own blood pounding in his ears, his heart trying to crawl out of his chest.

The second, was that the forest had grown, suddenly, inexplicably, deathly quiet.

No, not quiet. _Still._

The wind had vanished, leaving the air cold and stagnant, expectant, and the trees stood, frozen the same as Kaxuol was. Even the animals had done silent, the gentle and constant sounds of _life_ suddenly disappearing completely.

Kaxuol felt strangled, primal fear working its way up his throat like bile and clouding his mind, his knees shaking and paws stuck firmly to the asphalt.

Something tall and formless split itself off of the shadowy trunks of one of the trees, the long, spindly shape of a limb, a too-long hand reaching—

Kaxuol ran.

 

* * *

 

He had no idea how long or how far he’d run, only that he knew he couldn’t keep going. The cold air bit into his lungs like venom and tore at his throat, making each breath painful and ragged. The bottoms of his feet felt raw and his legs felt like rubber, having no more energy to carry him forward.

He bend forward, bracing his palms against his knees as he took deep, shuddering breaths, trying to steady his frantic heart. His instincts screamed at him to keep moving, keep running until he could find shelter, someplace he could corner himself into, protect his back, keep from being blind-sided or out-flanked.

The ringing in his ears was slowly replaced by a new sound, a different sound, and it took him a full time slice to puzzle out what it meant.

An owl hooted somewhere in the trees to his left. The wind whistled sweetly through the pines.

It was over.

Whatever…’it’ had been.

Before Kaxuol could ponder on the strange figure he had seen, the road was suddenly illuminated by a blinding white light, a binary star system flaring to life right in front of him, as the air was pierced by the bellow of a horn.

He froze, startled, blinded.

His mind braced for impact, while his body had other ideas.

Kaxuol dove, the truck swerved—

And he was skidding down the embankment and into the woods, bounding, sprinting for his life, the branches and roots tugging and ripping at his clothes, his skin, his fur turning damp and cold with dew, someone shouting behind him and the distant stench of burnt rubber, quickly being overtaken by the moist, encompassing scent of wet earth.

He stumbled abruptly out into a stretch of grass, the low hanging limbs of the Douglas Firs and spruces parting like a curtain, the moonlight like a follow-spot, as he spilled out of the wings and into the soft cushion of a lawn.

Panting, exhausted, Kaxuol looked up, wondering where the hell he had landed himself.

Miraculously, against all odds…

He was in Lance’s back yard.

On shaky legs, Kaxuol stumbled forward, not even bothering to try the storm door to the basement, and instead heading for the large maple that towered next to the house. He leaned against it, for a moment, letting the rough texture of the bark and the almost unnoticeable scent of sweet sap wash over him, grounding, grounding, grounding.

Carefully, easily, he shimmied his way up the thick trunk, until he reached the branch that leaned out onto the roof. He measured up the gap, crouched, and covered the distance in a single, silent leap. Crawling, hunched on all fours, he slunk towards the nearest window, the only one on that section of roof, and squinted inside, pressing his nose against the frosty glass.

He could make out a desk in front of him, clear mostly except for precarious stack of books, and beyond that he could see the lumpy piles of clothes scattered across the floor, and the colorful squares of posters on the walls.

Lance’s room, he decided.

The window was already open a crack, just enough that he could hook his nails against the frame, and he easily slid it up. As quietly as he could, he slipped inside, being sure to close the window behind him, hopping from the desk to the floor.

He’d expected Lance to wake up, to hear him scrambling across the roof, but instead he remained sound asleep, sprawled out on his stomach, one arm dangling off the edge of the bed and the sheets tangled around his long, thin legs.

Kaxuol sighed, and crouched down next to him.

“Lance,” He whispered, ears perked expectantly, “Lance.”

No reply, not so much as a snort or a snore.

“ _Lance_ …” He reached out, gingerly tapping his finger to the boy’s cheek, his skin soft and warm in comparison to the roughness of his own pads. “Lance,” He felt his breath hitch in frustration, the realization that he had no idea what he would do if Lance didn’t wake up washing over him. Would he just sleep on the floor, or should he go back – back through those dark and strange woods, into that…that creature’s domain – he didn’t think he could, he was so tired—

“Mmph….Keith?”

He almost jumped right out of his pelt, leaning back as Lance sluggishly rolled onto his side and squinted at him in the dark.

“Wha’re you doin’ here?”

“I…..”

What _was_ he doing here?

Lance continued to stare, his blue eyes shining bright in the pale light of the moon and narrowed in hazy scrutiny. Kaxuol felt his cheeks growing warm. He shouldn’t have come here. He should have just slept on Hunk’s couch, or toughed it out in the tree house. He should have—

Lance sighed, and grumbled, and reached out to sleepily tug at Kaxuol’s sleeve. “Wha’ever. C’mon. _Será mejor que no acaparar mi cama ..”_

He was drawn up onto the bed and grumpily, fussily pushed onto Lance’s far side, until he was wedged against the wall, their knees bumping against each other, hands searching awkwardly for blankets and fighting for the most territory on their shared pillow.

Eventually they found equilibrium, cuddled close, their heads bowed together like prayer, their spines the arch of closing parentheses, close, close, but never touching.

Lance was asleep within minutes, more still, more peaceful than Kaxuol had ever seen him, his lashes dark against the soft curve of his cheek, his tanned skin cast indigo, cast an ocean blue. This close, he could see the sprinkle of pale freckles across his sharp nose, could feel the warmth of his body, his hand a hair away from his own.

Exhaustion pulled at him, tangling his legs in its weight and pulling, down, down, down into the navy darkness sleep.

This time, Kaxuol let himself sink.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thace's riddles in order:
> 
> "What strange trees they have here,"
> 
> "Strange things lie behind the iron gate,  
> patiently beyond the pines they sit and wait."
> 
> "One: A soul is lost between worlds.  
> Two: The 18th nest holds snakes.  
> Three: The queen will remain, the bishop will rise, and the the knight will fall.  
> Four: A new and strange constellation will grow over a sleepy town."
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks everyone for their support and the amazing fan art!! you guys rock and im so so appreciative you have no idea! the next chapter will be posted next sunday, and it miiiight be a double update, depending on how i go about writing it? It'll be a bit of a change of pace and a different group of characters, so i might do a double chapter. 
> 
> as always i check the #aspen falls tag, and all bonus content including ~~aesthetic posts are on my blog, entrywound, under #aspen falls! come by and talk to me! :0 
> 
> peace <3


	6. The Wolf and the Snake

* * *

 

Tuesday, October 8, 1985

2:49AM

DISPATCH: _Aspen Falls Sheriff’s station, how may I direct your call?_

CALLER: _This is Ben Salis, I’m – I’m out on Belvedere – mile marker 3.2 and I – I just saw somethin’ in the woods. Damn thing ran right out in front of my rig –_

DISPATCH: _Sir? Was it an animal – can you describe it?_

CALLER: _I thought it was a boy, a kid, at first but. I dunno, it didn’t –it didn’t look right. It had fur – might’a been some kinda costume but I - Might’a been a bear but I ain’t never seen no bear like that. Can ya put in a word with animal control that there’s somethin’ out there? Might be dangerous._

 

Tuesday, October 8, 1985

6:42AM

DISPATCH: _Aspen Falls Sheriff’s station, how may I direct your call?_

CALLER: _Yeah, Muriel, hey – It’s Jack McMillon with Brighton Mill. We’re out in Mkasess Forest, out off Fire Route 2 and there’s somethin’, we found some kinda….– it’s- I dunno. Somethin’ cut through some of our equipment and it’s… It’s mighty strange, I’ll tell ya that. Better send the Sheriff, soon as ya can._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie McLeod knew it was going to be One Of Those Days when she was awoken, not by her alarm clock, but by what she would later discover to a whopping eight – eight! – voicemails left on her machine by Muriel Williams, the dispatcher/secretary/records clerk for the Aspen Falls Sherriff’s station.

Nine, by the time she managed to drag her dead ass off her futon, nearly tripping over one of her resident cats while trying to reach her handheld before the answering machine kicked on.

She stood there, fumbling blearily for her pack of Marlboros in the pockets of yesterday’s discarded pants, the cold breeze from the open window rising goosebumps on her bare legs, and listened to the messages. Muriel’s youthfully pitched voice cycled through her usual chipper professionalism, into annoyed, into very annoyed, into absolute frustration, into worry, into urgent concern, and finally, to resignation. She didn’t leave many details, a few reminders of meetings Charlie had undoubtedly missed by now, and something about downed logging equipment out on Fire Road 2.

Charlie took a drag, and pinched the bridge of her freckled nose. _One of those days,_ she sighed, and tried to ignore that judging glare of the old Maine Coon that, out of the graciousness of her heart, allowed Charlie to live in her own damn house.

“Don’t look at me like that, Cash.”

Cash continued to look at her, exactly, like that.

She snubbed out her cigarette and pursed her lips, realizing she had lost… whatever the hell the contest had been. “Fine, fine. I’m goin’ already. Jesus.”

Cash’s diesel-engine purr echoed after her as she retreated towards the bathroom.

Twenty minutes, three cigarettes and the hottest shower she could manage later, Charlie was driving her beaten up Ford Bronco through the pine shaded roads into town, stale bagel in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

She coasted her truck around the side of the building, situating herself off the main drag, and paused only long enough to twist her dark auburn hair up into a messy fly-away bun, and to see just how close to hell she looked in her rearview.

Charlie thought herself ‘too goddamn old’ to care what people thought of her, but there was a difference between not giving a shit about her appearance – the bags and creases around her blue eyes and the grey salting her hair and collecting around her temples, the callouses and scars on her knuckles and the mud caked to her boots and the wrinkles pressed into her old army coat – and looking like absolute shit that just got dragged in by the neighborhood stray.

Which meant her feathers were just a tiny, tiny bit rumpled when she walked in and the first words out of everyone’s goddamn mouth was some variation of, “Wow, Chief, you look like hell!” and, “Rough night, huh?”

“I dunno, Cylde, you’ll have to ask your sister,” she drawled, reaching around her youngest, scrappiest deputy to rearrange the playing cards he had in his hand. His mouth dropped open in the perfect picture of scandal and disgust, although she wasn’t sure if it had more to do with her comment or her touching his cards.

“I’m kidding,” she snorted, brushing her shaggy bangs out of her eyes as she scooted around the table to their coffee station to pour herself another cup of her lifeblood, “Your sister’s a sweetheart,” she pointed an absent finger in Clyde’s direction, “Remind me to call ‘er later.”

“--Because I just _love_ hearing about my boss’s sex life first thing in the morning.” The comment was further emphasized by an earth shaking eyeroll from her second deputy.

“C’mon, Rax-A-Million, y’know that these conversations’re the only reason you keep comin’ in to work.”

Braxton ‘Rax’ Balmer was Charlie’s second deputy and was a sharp contrast to Clyde in both looks and personality. They were on the opposite end of the spectrum in just about everything she could think of. Where Clyde was clumsy and energetic, Rax was agile and had the personality of a stump. Where Clyde was tiny, only a few inches taller than Charlie, with a mop of dusty curls and big green eyes, Rax was built like a lean tank, his dark hair cropped close to his skull. The gap between jock and over-zealous nerd couldn’t be wider, but they were both completely dedicated to their work and their town, even if they showed it in different ways, and, well, Charlie had to appreciate that.

“I think it has more to do with Muriel’s coffee, honestly,” Clyde murmured, his face almost disappearing into oversized coffee mug he had claimed as his own, taking a long, appreciative sip.

“That’s prob’ly more likely, yeah,” Charlie agreed mildly. It was no department secret that Muriel’s dark roast coffee the literal fuel that kept the department running like the well-oiled machine that it was.

“Sheriff McLeod, I hate to interrupt,” Muriel interrupted, poking her head into the break room, her entrance proceeded by the piles of bright ginger curls that she somehow managed to stack on top of her head, “But a lot of calls came through overnight and they sound pretty important…”

“Right, right, o’course,” Charlie waved an apologetic hand, and rested her hip against the counter, sipping at her coffee. She rolled her finger towards her, indicating she was ready and listening.

Muriel nodded shyly, and adjusted her over-sized sweater, before reading slowly and clearly from a legal pad, “2:49 AM, Mr. Ben Salis called to report an strange animal on Belvedere that ran out in front of his truck. I already called animal control but it might be a good idea to talk to him.”

“Ben’s a trucker,” Charlie shrugged, ”Probably just road-weary. Seein’ things. Trick o’ the light and all that. Three in the mornin’? Jesus.”

“Oh, I dunno, Sheriff – you didn’t hear him on the phone,” Muriel commented, her perfectly shaped eyebrows furring, “He sounded pretty distraught.”

“Alright, I’ll talk to him… What else?”

“6:42 AM. Mr. Jack McMillon called. He said someone vandalized some of their logging equipment out by Fire Road 2. He said the damage was extensive and he doesn’t think it was teenagers.”

“Protesters?”

Muriel shook her head, “He said it was,“ she flipped a page in her notebook, “’Mighty strange.’”

Charlie was quiet for a moment, tipping her head to the side in thought. She knew Jack, she’d played baseball with him growing up; hell, she’d even dated his sister for a hot minute back in high school. He was a straight shooter, and if something was ‘mighty strange’, well, then Charlie had half a mind to believe him. “Alright, I’ll head up there an’—“

“There were also seven other calls from Mrs. Mary Schuler, Mr. Bob Robertson, Mr. Henry Krauss, Mr. Matt Holt, Mrs. Vera Mason, Mr. John St—“

“Muriel,” Charlie interrupted, thick brows raised expectantly.

“Right. They all called between midnight and 6:40AM to report–” she flipped to another page–“Hovering lights, a strange humming noise and intermittent power failure.”

Charlie looked at Rax and Clyde, the pair staring at her with arched eyebrows and smug smiles, and then back at Muriel. She waited for the punchline, but her dispatcher just looked at her, patient, until a breathless, startled laugh bubbled out of her.

“What..? You’ve gotta be jokin’.”

“That’s what they reported.”

Sighing, she pushed her bangs out of her face with one hand, and then pinched the bridge of her nose. What a Tuesday this was turning out to be.

“It’s – it’s prob’ly just Roosevelt Air Base, they’re always doin’ their maneuvers an’ shit over Mkasess Forest,” Clyde suggested, his voice pitched with uncertainty.

“Speaking of Roosevelt Air Base…”

“Oh, no.”

“There was a call from a Major Zachary Kon, at 7:02 this morning saying he would like to set up a meeting with you, Sheriff.”

“What for?”

“He didn’t say, only that he wants to schedule it A.S.A.P.”

“Great,” Charlie enthused, and pushed herself off of the counter with a slow exhale. “Great. I’ll – I’ll give ‘em a shout… _after_ I visit half the goddamn town.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost one o’clock by the time Charlie and Rax made it out to the logging site, and she felt like she had aged five years. She loved Aspen Falls, she really, truly did, and she knew and loved every goddamn person that lived there, but she’d be lying if she said they didn’t test her finite patience sometimes.

They had gone to all seven households, winding through the woods on their slow and crawling way to Mkasess Forest. By the end of the interviewing marathon, Charlie’s notebook was almost full, and she had a stack of drawings and even photographs sitting in a folder on her backseat of the “mysterious lights”. She was glad, at least, that some of the callers had done most of the leg-work for her by recording down the times and frequency of the outages and trying to photograph or video the evidence, but if she were being perfectly honest, this whole thing sounded like a job for the power company, not the sheriff.

But bless their hearts, all the same.

Charlie found herself reconsidering, ten minutes later, when they pulled into the clearing off the access road and she got her first glimpse of the vandalized equipment.

“Well, shit,” she said to Rax, as her deputy just stared, expression stony, getting out of the truck.

Jack had already spotted them, recognizing her burgundy Bronco, and was walking up to meet them.

“You weren’t kiddin’.” Charlie lifted her brows as she shook Jack’s large, calloused hand. He turned and shook Rax’s hand while she craned her neck to survey the damage done to the tower yarder, the seventy foot-tall pillar of metal and cables that they used to convey fallen lumber to the loading area. Someone had sheared it down to about forty-five feet, and the severed peak was lying in the mud a few yards away.

“Quite a doozy, huh?” Jack sighed, taking off his hard-hat to scrub his hand through his short, graying hair.

“That’s an understatement,” she snorted as Jack led them over to the fallen piece of equipment. They were running bare-bones, seeing as half their shit was wrecked, and she ignored the stares of the other loggers as she circled around the top of the tower.

It was an absolute mess, and not a clean break like she had originally thought. One side was charred and dented, cracked and split like the front end of a car after a collision, and the edge was uneven and stripped, like it had snapped under some kinda force.

“Rax,” she hummed, crouching down to inspect one of the cables that twisted across the ground in a tangled knot, taking a look at the frayed end. “What was the wind speed last night?”

There was a pause as he thought about it. “Gusts couldn’t have been more than fifteen. I’d have to call the weather service an’ check, though.”

“So, not enough to pull this puppy down,” Charlie said, pushing herself up off of her knees, hands to her thighs.

“Ain’t no wind that did this, Sheriff,” Jack cut in, holding up his hands, “These poles are made of reinforced steel, an’ each one of those ropes has a breakin’ strength of 103,400 lbs.” He blew out a breath, hands on his hips. “I just – I dunno, it wasn’t no natural force that did this.”

Charlie crossed her arms over her chest, and rocked back on her heels, looking from the shattered top of the tower to the crown piece that sprawled like a wreckage at her feet. If it were anyone else, she would have considered alternative possibilities, like equipment failure or a violation of safety protocol concerning the grounding of the cables and supports, like an over-tension or a frayed line, but she knew Jack, and she knew how he ran his ship and that sort of shit would never fly.

There had to be more to this - something she wasn’t seeing. There _had_ to be.

“There’s somethin’ else,” Jack huffed, and Charlie realized the silence had stretched on for a little too long.

“What’s that?”

Jack pivoted to the left, and pointed.

Both Rax and Charlie followed his gesture and balked. She worked for several seconds to process just what the hell she was staring at, and, out of the spinning hurricane of her thoughts, the first thing that coherently popped out was, _“A giant took a bite outta the top of that tree.”_

Trees, actually. Christ. There was a line of pines, maybe three across and who knew how deep, where the tops were shorn away. Not cut clean, but missing, ripped or snapped off, the parchment yellow of the insides sticking splintering and sharp and scorched into the clear blue sky. She knew without having to turn back around that the ruined foliage would be nearly perfectly aligned with the downed tower. It was a trail. A crash zone, maybe.

“Jack,” she said suddenly, feeling slightly out of herself, part of her still focused on puzzling out the pieces, compartmentalizing her next steps that she felt removed from her person, and turned to face the lumberman. She held out her hand. “Thanks for lettin’ me know. Gonna make a few calls, bring in the cavalry an’ see if we can get this sorted out.”

“Sure, of course.”

“If ya think of anythin’, you know where to reach us.”

 

* * *

 

 

They were half-way to the Knotty Pine to meet up with Ben Salis when Charlie couldn’t stand the silence anymore, and, with one hand on the wheel, turned to face Rax so suddenly that he actually leaned back against the door in surprise.

“What the fuck,” she said, an observation, not a question.

“It’s… strange. I’ll give you that,” Rax replied carefully, always so carefully.

“What the hell could’ve done that? Wh--a tree? Could a tree have fallen an’ hit one of the cables, pulled the whole thing down?”

“It would had to have been one huge-ass tree. They had that whole plot cleared for at least a hundred yards ‘round.”

She squinted at him, slowing as they hit the first red-light, entering the town as they came down off the mountain, pursing her lips, “Tornado?”

Rax lifted one fine eyebrow, and she thought she might just choke on the waves of judgement he was sending her way, “… Really?”

This was why she preferred to go on calls with Clyde. At least he humored her bullshit.

“You got a better idea, smart guy? It ain’t exactly plausible, but it ain’t _im_ possible.” Charlie turned forward, cutting around the square and towards the diner, grabbing a space out front, despite the business of the lunch rush. “Besides, stranger things have happened in this town. You weren’t alive for the Hail Storm of ’58, but I tell ya – three inches of hail and ice n’ shit in the square, and only the square. Not a pebble on the road, but the gazebo almost buckled under the weight.”

“So – what? What’s our next step, here?” Rax huffed, terse and clipped, a warning sign that he was getting frustrated. Rax wasn’t exactly the most patient employee she had, but he was certainly one of the sharpest.

“Call – shit – I dunno.” What was the protocol for this sort of thing? “Call the weather service an’ check for anythin’ strange. Heat lightning, wind gusts, mini tornados, whatever. And we’ll call the park service, see if anyone out in the watch towers saw anythin’. Oh – Roosevelt, too, and every airport north of Bangor.”

Rax stopped dead in his tracks, and Charlie almost walked into the diner without him. She paused, one hand pressed flat against the door, and arched an expectant eyebrow.

He sounded tense, tenser than she’d ever heard him, when he asked quietly, “What’re you thinkin’, Chief?”

Charlie sighed through her nose, itching for a smoke, and worked her jaw, grinding her teeth together in thought. “Downed plane, maybe,” she said at length shrugging one shoulder, “Helicopter? Experimental aircraft? Shit, kid, let’s just – let’s get this over with.” They could work shop their theory later, back at the station where there was coffee and they weren’t hovering on the Knotty Pine’s stoop like alley cats around a dumpster.

 

* * *

 

Stepping into the warmly lit diner, it was easy to spot Salis, mainly because he shot to his feet like a bolt the second they walked through the damn door. Charlie led the way, swaggering over to the corner booth and flagging Abby, the waitress, on her way over. There was a round of handshakes and introductions, the ceremonial pouring of the Best Coffee In The Universe, and soon they were huddled in a tiny vinyl booth in conspiratorial quiet.

Salis was spooked, Charlie could tell, fidgeting in his seat and drumming his fingers on the table, bouncing his leg like a piston. She could feel him clamming up on them, closing off, re-thinking this, and she was not in the mood for that sort of run-around today.

“Alright, Ben.” She spread out her hands, putting an edge in her voice that snapped him right out of his cowardly trance. “Why don’t ya just… tell us what you saw.”

“I-I don’t know what I saw.”

She could feel Rax’s brown eyes boring into the side of her skull.

“Muriel said it was some kinda…bear?”

“I’m… not sure. I don’t wanna lose my job, Sheriff, if word gets out or—“

Charlie held up her hand, leaning forward slightly and lowering her voice, closing in the bubble of their conversation. There was enough ambient noise that she doubted anyone could hear them, anyway, what with the jukebox playing that ’64 Dylan song about the changing times or whatever. “This is just between us, a’ight?”

Ben bit his lip, “I – you’re gonna think I’m nuts.”

Charlie couldn’t help but smile, lopsided and wry. “Try me,” she replied, fishing for a smoke, and bumping one to Ben in offering. He accepted, and took a slow, steadying drag, shifting around and folding, then unfolding his hands while he organized himself.

“Okay. I was comin’ down Belvedere last night, on my way to the warehouse to drop the trailer, and – you know how those turns are – I didn’t see the damn thing until I was on top of it – and I only got a glance at it before –” Ben stopped, and took another drag– “It was small, smaller than a bear, and skinny as hell, but was walkin’ on two legs, like a person. But it – I don’t think it was. I mean, it could’ve been? The height was right for a kid, and it – its face was human enough. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m sayin this. Its legs were – were backwards. And it was covered head to toe in fur.”

Charlie frowned, looked at Rax, and then frowned harder, “Fur?”

“Yup. Purple fur.”

“You’re… sure?”

“That’s about the one thing I _am_ sure of. It was square in my headlights and its fur was as purple as a lavender plant.”

She ground her jaw, and leaned back against the creaking red vinyl. “Okay,” she said, slowly, and flipped to a clean page in her notebook. She sketched out a quick approximation of the path of the road, and then slid the paper and pencil across the table. “Can you mark down exactly where you saw the – the animal?”

Ben nodded, unsure, but did as she requested.

“Thanks, Ben. We’ve already called animal control, but we’ll head out and take a look around, see if we can find any trace of it. If you’re up to it, maybe swing by the station later and you and Clyde can sketch it out for us.”

“Um. Yeah, sure. Sure, Sheriff.”

 

* * *

 

 

Muriel radioed them the second they got back to the Bronco to inform her of two more missed calls from Major Kon, and, surprisingly, one from the goddamn mayor. Charlie sat for a minute, and just rested her forehead against the steering wheel, settling her buffered and ruffled nerves.

What sort of goddamn Twilight Zone-ass Tuesday was this, anyway?

If she believed in a higher power then she’d be looking to have a few words for whatever wonky trial They were trying to put her through, but as it was, she just started the truck.

After dropping Rax off back at the station, Charlie swung back around to City Hall.

Much like the police station, the new city hall was much less impressive than its predecessor. After the Fire of ’46 they hadn’t had enough resources to restore the municipal buildings to their former glory, and instead had constructed quick, plain trailer-like buildings with the eventual hope that they’d be able to improve them in the future.

It had been forty years, jack shit had been done, and no one was under any illusions of “fixing up” town square anymore.

She took her time making her way back to the mayor’s office, stopping to visit some old friends in records, and having a long and lovely conversation with the young man who was acting as interim secretary, until she was finally called in.

Of all the mayors that Aspen Falls had cycled through in her fifty-three years of existence in this tired old town, and of all the officials she had served, Alfor Althaia was her favorite, and definitively the most competent.

“Ah, Sheriff McLeod, good to see you.”

He greeted her with a warm smile and a firm handshake, ushering her in to his small but cozy office, his voice a cast-iron baritone. The corners of his bright eyes crinkled with his smile, and she felt a little stunned, remembering that she was technically his senior.

“Always a pleasure, sir,” she smiled, and allowed herself a breath of calming sanity. Alfor was a pillar, in that he was a naturally stabilizing force, with his soft eyes and laughter lines, his neat white hair and closely trimmed beard, his cozy, neutral colored sweater. He was a lighthouse, a mountain, an old pine tree. Calm and serene and constant, the picture of a community leader.

Shocking, really, considering his previous life-style.

“Or, should I say, Your Majesty?” she grinned, wicked, teasing.

“Only if you want to end up flat on your ass in the square,” Alfor shot back, his tone dry with intention, but his eyes were sparkling.

“Mm. I’ll pass,” she shrugged, and changed the subject, and glancing towards the framed picture that sat on his desk, the glass catching the sunlight from the window, “Anyway, how’s your little girl?”

“Not so little anymore,” Alfor smiled, broad and bright with pride, like a sunbeam through the clouds, “She’s a senior now.”

“Shit, what, already?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s looking into colleges – mostly local, of course, but we’ve been trying to get her to look farther. She’s so bright, I don’t want her to limit herself because she feels like she has to stay close by.”

Charlie inclined her head, nodding. She was pretty sure that if Allura wanted to, she could get into any damn school her heart desired, between her grades and her drive. She was absolutely a product of her upbringing.

“And Prince Charming?”

Alfor laughed at that, loud and startled, like a punch to the chest, “Oh, he’s – Coran is fine. Great, really. Always keeping busy with the scouts and all the clubs he advises. I swear, between the two of them and this job I can never keep up. But it’s our Anniversary next month, so I think something special is in order.”

“Oh? Reunion tour?” Charlie smirked, glancing pointedly to the electric blue Fender Jaguar that hung on the wall behind his desk.

“You wish.”

“Yeah, yeah I do… This town is too quiet without _King Alfor and the Paladins_ rockin’ and rollin’ and causing mayhem at every waking moment.”

Alfor snorted softly, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “We never _‘caused mayhem.’_ Maybe a little civil disobedience here and there, maybe some organized chaos, but never mayhem.”

She rolled her eyes, “Right, _right_. Tell that to Mrs. Beyer’s –“

The intercom on the desk rang shrilly, cutting her off, and she leaned back, bowing out while Alfor pressed the button to page through to the secretary.

“Yes, Richie?”

“Your three o’clock is here to see you.”

Alfor nodded as he stood. “Good, please, send him in.”

Charlie rose to her feet, one hand already reaching for her coat, “Sorry, sir, didn’t realize you had someone comin’ in, I’ll catch up with you lat—“

“No, no, stay,” The mayor waved his hand dismissively, circling the desk to stand next to her. “I called you over for a reason, to kill two birds with one stone, in a way, since he wanted to meet with both of us.”

Charlie frowned, something ringing in the back of her mind that this wasn’t quite right, and turned as the door opened, “Who-?”

A man entered, closing the door behind him. He was…unassuming, Charlie decided; middle aged and clean cut, with salt-and-pepper hair and deep-set eyes like a knife. His face was creased with lines, none of them from laughing. His suit was charcoal, his tie was black, the coat that was draped over his arm was black. The only thing on him that was saturated was the line of multicolored pins that adorned the breast of his suit.

There was something about him, Charlie decided, that she immediately didn’t like. He was pressed and neat, his shoulders edged so sharply she was afraid she’d cut herself if she got too close, and, most of all, completely unassuming, unremarkable. And yet, the room felt colder, smaller, the second he had walked in, like the suit and the neutral demeanor was just a skin, a disguise.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing. A snake in the grass.

He looked at them carefully, appraising, and extended his hand to the mayor, and then to her.

“Sheriff Charlie McLeod,” Alfor said, introducing her as she shook the man-in-black’s hand.

“Sheriff, this is Major Zachary Kon, United States Department of Defense.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [imperial march playing loudly in the foreground] 
> 
> so. okay. there won't be a double up-date because this chapter felt like pulling teeth and its ridiculously hot and im suffering. but!! i will try to upload a second chapter on wednesday or thursday bc its. this was an exposition chapter and i didnt want to write it but i had to. its important. trust me. but it wasn't a *fun* chapter, ya know? so we'll be back to our regularly scheduled program later this week!
> 
> introducing: charlie mcleod, one of my own, whos playing sheriff because...ya know. theres really. theres not that many characters in voltron... she won't be around much, but say hello  
> deputy clyde: remember the first arusian the paladins meet in VLD? guess who gets a cameo.  
> deputy braxton balmer: this ones a given 8) and yes, that does mean that shay is running around town somewhere too
> 
> also i went back and edited some of the dates in the earlier chapters because i realized that october 5 1985 was actually a saturday! not a monday. and im a little Ridiculous™ when it comes to accuracy so that happened
> 
> thanks again everyone for reading and for all the messages and support you've given me! it means so much you dont even know. as always i track the #aspen falls and #aspenfalls tags on tumblr, and my blog is entrywound if you want to chat! have a good week and see you next update!
> 
> peace <3<3


	7. Rising Tides

 

* * *

  _Comes on gentle and smiling_  
_And it likes to leave a scar_  
Here it comes again no  
Here comes that sinking feeling

**_-Eurythmics_ **

* * *

 

Morning broke softly through Lance’s window, spilling dappled light through his curtains and across his bed, a stretching rectangle of heat that promised a warm and clear day. It was one of those perfect Saturday mornings that was flawed only in that it was actually Tuesday. Still, Lance felt that he could lie in bed for the rest of his life and be perfectly content so long as everything stayed exactly as it was.

Sleep fell away from him like waves pulling away from the shore, and he blinked open his hazy, heavy eyes, an absent and content smile plastered on his face.

The first thing he saw when his vision focused was Keith – Kaxuol – only a few short inches from his own, close enough that Lane could feel the gentle puff of his breath ghost across his skin. Kaxuol had claimed most of the pillow, Lance realized, and his cheek pressed into the soft fabric, lips slightly parted as he breathed, slow and even with sleep. His eyelashes cast shadows across the silken fur on his cheek, his hair shining bright and edged in golden light as it fell across his peaceful face, the picture innocence and rest.

Lance screamed.

He threw himself backwards in one instinctual scrambling motion, and the last things he saw before he propelled himself off of his own bed were Kaxuol’s yellow eyes snapping open.

“What the f— _heck_?!” Lance gasped, curbing his curse when he remembered how thin the walls of his house actually were. And the fact that his Ma had hearing like a bat. He landed flat on his back, and as he pushed himself up on his elbows he noticed Kaxuol was sitting up as well, his legs folded underneath him as he rubbed sleepily at his eyes.

“What are you _doing_ here?” His blue eyes flickered over Kax’s drowsy form. “And what are you _wearing_?”

The alien frowned, brows drawing together in confusion for a moment, and then he looked down at himself, tugging absently at the fabric of the bright yellow t-shirt. “Hunk,” he said by way of explanation, and yeah, that much was obvious, considering the collar was stretched out enough that it hung loose off of one thin shoulder, and it was long enough that it reached his thighs. Plus, it was yellow.

“Fair enough,” Lance allowed, rocking forward so he was kneeling against the bed, his arms folded in front of him. He pointed an accusatory finger at his guest. “But why are you here?”

Kaxuol tilted his head, ears twitching as he considered the question, glowing pink with the sunlight that framed him, edging him in gold and rose. “I’m… looking for my mother…?” he spoke slowly, uncertainly, like he was wondering how Lance could forget.

Lance waved his hands quickly in front of his face, dismissing. “No, no, I meant – I meant why are you _here?_ “ He spread his arms out to gesture to his brightly lit and cluttered bedroom. “I thought you were staying with Hunk!”

“Oh!” Kaxuol blinked, and Lance just rested his chin in the palm of his hand, waiting with pseudo patience, while he explained. “Hunk…” he trailed off, swirling his hand in the general direction of his face, huffing in annoyance when he couldn’t think of the proper word. Finally he gave up, pinched the tip of his nose, his face scrunching up as he inhaled in the most nasally, ridiculously sounding snort he could manage.

Lance could only stare at him, blankly, feeling Kaxuol’s expectant gaze bore into him.

And then a laugh punched itself out of him, wheezing and startled, and was rolling on the floor, clutching at his sides, and now it was Kaxuol’s turn to stare at him like he’d lost his mind. It was a few minutes later when his tittering giggles finally subsided enough that he could pull himself up on the edge of the bed, despite the aching in his sides, and wiped a tear from his eye. Kaxuol shifted back, his long, weird legs folded now in front of him and his back pressed against the wall, his expression one of mild concern.

“S-So let me get this straight,” Lance wheezed, stomping down a second laughing fit. “You – you walked two miles. In the middle of the night. Because Hunk’s _snoring_ kept you awake?”

“…Yes.”

“Dude.”

“….Yes?”

Lance threw himself down next to Kax, the latter flinching away at the sudden movement, his eyes wide in confusion and trepidation, but not actual fear, and Lance slung his arm around the boy’s thin shoulders. “Dude,” he continued, “you are an inspiration. Truly. I mean that. From the bottom of my heart.”

Kax blinked, the corner of his soft mouth twitching in something that might have been the beginning of a smile.

“But…” Lance sighed, grip slackening. Kaxuol’s smile faded, as Lance poking him gently in the chest. Not so much a poke, but a touch, just the pads of his splayed fingers pressing under his collarbone. “You shouldn’t have come. Not – not that I don’t, like, want you here! But—“ he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled— “listen. I know we’re super cool and awesome and understanding, but other people… aren’t. Not all humans are like us. If someone saw you, who knows what they would do!”

Kaxuol was frowning, opening his mouth to protest. Lance could feel him inhale in preparation to stubbornly defend himself, to resist – a trait that Lance admired, because he was just as steadfast, which meant that he also knew he had to cut this off before it got out of hand. “Ah-ah, no. No. No buts. I know it’s – it’s not _ideal_ , but you gotta stay put, at least for now.”

Lance leaned in close, pressing into Kax’s shoulder, bumping their heads together, and batted his eyelashes, “C’mon. Do it for me?”

Kaxuol stared at him for a full forty seconds, edging towards fighting him – and then, remarkably, he relaxed into his side and turned his head away. The sunlight sprinkled dappled light on his cheek, and Lance thought that it looked like luminescent freckles, kisses from the sun. “Fine,” he said, but wasn’t happy about it.

Lance sighed, and made a point of enunciating “Thank you” very clearly. “Now – if you don’t mind – I need to get ready for school before Ma decides to enter un-announced.” He hopped off the bed, the frame squeaking and jostling Kax, who remained tucked against the window.

“School?”

“Uh, yeah,” Lance scratched the back of his head, kicking aside a dirty shirt as he scoured for one that might be clean and easily accessible. He gave up when he slammed his foot into the sharp edge of an action figure, and moved on to his dresser. He had, of course, clean clothes in there, but they weren’t his _favorites_. “It’s a place where kids are forced to go during the week and we get in trouble if we don’t. We have to take tests and do work and stuff like that, and everything is on a schedule. Ah-ha!” He tugged a clean shirt out of the drawer, and turned around to toss it onto the bed.

Kaxuol was staring at him in open horror. “That is awful!”

Lance shrugged mildly, “Eh. It’s not so bad. Some of the classes are pretty cool, and I get to hang out with Hunk and Pidge all day, so that’s a plus! And, I mean, I _like_ to learn, I just don’t like being… tested.” He grabbed a second shirt and a pair of jeans off the back of his desk chair. “I have trouble, uh, concentrating when it comes to that stuff,” he confessed, and hurried on, feeling and edge of defensiveness creep up his spine. “Ma said it was a disorder or somethin’. But that doesn’t mean I’m not smart!”

“… Okay?” Kaxuol replied, his legs drawn idly to his chest and his hands resting on his knees, cuddled up in Lance’s blankets. He had that almost-smile on his face again, and Lance wasn’t sure if he was challenging him or humoring or agreeing with him.

“A-Anyway,” He continued, grabbing a clean shirt off the bed and turning around as he pulled his night-shirt over his head. “There’s a spare shirt for you to change into later, if you want – or if you wanna keep wearing Hunk’s shirt, that’s – that’s cool too, and… uh…” He trailed off. Lance wasn’t exactly alone, and, not that he was self-conscious, but there was a difference between changing in front of friends, and changing in front of Kaxuol the Alien.

What was worse, was that Kax didn’t seem bothered in the least, just watching and listening with that infuriatingly innocent expression. “Um. D-Do you mind?”

Kax tilted his head, and then shrugged his narrow shoulders. “No?”

Lance slapped his palm to his forehead, feeling his cheeks grow warm, and then quickly pulled his blue and white shirt on. “N-Never mind. Just… stay here. I’m gonna try and sneak you some breakfast – so – just…” He lifted his hands, jeans and boxers slung over his arm as he backed towards the door. “ _Stay_.”

The last thing he saw before closing the door was Kax, lips pouting and one eyebrow raised.

 

* * *

 

 

Despite the clandestine nature of Lance’s morning – between sneaking around to find shit to keep Kax occupied while he was away as well as getting every assurance except for one in writing that he would Stay Put until Lance got back – he somehow made it to school on time.

“Hunk!” Lance greeted his friend loudly as he coasted up to the bike rack. “Did you lose something?”

His friend froze, one leg off of his bike, and stared at him. Pidge edged herself out of their line of fire, busying herself with locking her bike to the rack. “Oh. Oh! Oh, shit, Lance.” He went a shade paler, his hands clapping over his mouth in realization.

“Yeah! Oh, shit, Lance is right!”

“Dude, I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize he was gone until I left – and I figured he was with you, I was gonna – I didn’t think he’d sneak out!”

“Wait – I missed something. What’s going on?”

“Kax- _Keith_ ,” Lance stressed, remembering they were in the mixed company of the school yard, “snuck in to my room last night!”

Pidge’s mouth was a perfect little ‘O’ as she stared at him behind her equally round glasses. She blinked, and then her expression of shock was replaced with a shit-eating smirk. “Wow, Casanova, that didn’t take long.”

Lane turned, slowly, and stared at her.

“What… are you talking about?”

“He must really like you if came all that way,” she purred, rubbing her elbow into his ribs as she waggled her dark eyebrows. “So tell me, did you guys kiss yet? Was it weird? Are his lips furry or are they, like, soft and normal?”

Lance gaped at her, openly and terribly and horrifically.

Hunk was falling into tittering giggle behind his hands, Pidge was grinning like the cat who ate the canary, and Lance was dying. He could feel the blush creeping up from his neck and burning his ears, flushing his freckled face bright pink as he struggled to come up with something to say in response to that.

“Why, I _never_!” Lance finally gasped, his hand to his chest as if he was trying to shield himself from further scandal.

Hands on her hips, Pidge lifted a single eyebrow.

“W-we didn’t – we – _he_ -…” Lance managed to stop his wildly flailing gestures, and took a deep breath, “He only came over in the first place because Hunk’s _snoring_ kept him awake!”

It was Hunk’s turn to gasp, offended. “I don’t snore that loudly!”

“Yes, you do,” Pidge and Lance answered in synchronization that would have been concerning if they hadn’t spent half their lives together.

“Anyway, it _is_ more likely that Keith only came over to escape Hunk’s snoring that it is for him to want to smooch you, Lance.”

“ _Thank_ you,” he sighed, throwing up his hands in relief. Her comment only registered a few seconds later, and he frowned. “Hey!” Around him, the crowds of students were drifting inside as the countdown to their first class began. Grumbling, he trailed behind his friends.

“While you were getting cozy with…’Keith’,” Pidge continued, her brown eyes darting back in forth in suspicion as they waded through the halls, careful not to be overheard, “I was thinking of ways we could help him out. He flew however many lightyears to get to our specific planet, so he probably had some kind of way to find his mom when he got here – or for his ship to bring him to her.”

“… So?” Lance pursed his lips in thought.

“ _So…_ He got knocked off course and crashed – but his ship was still, originally, going to a specific location. And that ship is now in the woods behind your house.”

“What – you wanna repair it?” His brows shot into his hair line, skeptical. Pidge was good, and Pidge and Hunk together were an engineering force of nature, but this was alien technology. He didn’t even think the boys at NASA were that good.

“No, no,” Pidge waved her hands, dismissive. “Well – Ideally, yeah, how neat would _that_ be? What I want to do is copy the coordinates from its guidance system.”

Hunk was nodding energetically, practically bouncing with excitement. “That’s perfect! It’ll lead us right to—“

“Morning, Cadets!

The booming, chipper voice that sounded off over their heads nearly made them jump out of their skins. Lance totally didn’t shriek.

“M-morning, Mr. Althaia…” they chimed in various stages of recovery, turning to face their science teacher/club advisor/scout leader/general facial hair inspiration. He laughed merrily, flapping a hand in front of him. “I told you kids – call me Coran! Or Mr. C! Mr. Althaia is my husband.”

“Uh, right, Mr. C…” Lance rubbed at his neck. Coran was grinning down at them with pride in a way that always made Lance feel so guilty, because he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. He just had this smile, this look, that made every child he taught feel invincible and believed in, like the world was theirs to conquer and they could do anything, and that Coran was so proud of them. It drove Lance _nuts_.

“Don’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” their teacher continued, stroking his bright, ginger moustache, and Lance felt his stomach plummet to the floor. Had he heard them talking about Keith? Coran was cool but there was probably a limit to how relaxed he could be, and he was still a grown-up, he was still responsible—“But were you kids planning another campaign?”

Lance felt like his entire universe had shifted three feet to the left.

“Huh?”

“A campaign!” Coran repeated, with slightly less enthusiasm, when Lance just stared at him, the gears in his head jamming.

“Yeah!” Hunk butt in, perhaps a little too loudly, subtly elbowing Lance in the side. Pidge was staring at them both with wide eyes, posed like she was ready to bolt, possibly even flee the country. “Yeah, we’re, uh – planning a new story! About, uh – about…”

“An alien! Who, uh, is stranded on another planet!”

“And is trying to find his long lost family!”

Lance chimed in, only slightly panicking. “B-but he has to stay _hidden_ ,” he stressed the word through clenched teeth, “because the, uh, Galactic… Department of – uh – Fashion wants to arrest him.”

Coran’s mouth formed a perfect circle underneath his bushy mustache. “Good heavens! What for?”

“Crimes against fashion,” Lance sniffed, and then dropped his voice gravely, standing on his toes to whisper conspiratorially in Coran’s ear. “Our hero has a _mullet_.”

Coran gasped.“No!”

“Yes!”

“How tragic…” he sighed, touching his cheek with his palm, aghast. Lance nodded solemnly, in agreement.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Pidge interrupted before any of them said something they would regret, already shoving herself into Hunk, and by extension, Lance, pushing them down the hall, “we gotta head to first period. See ya later, Mr. C!”

“Bye, kids! I can’t wait to hear more of your adventures!”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time the trio managed to excuse themselves from their various after-school activities, (Drama for Pidge and Hunk, and swim practice for Lance), it was well after the official end of the school day. The yard and parking lot was empty, which was a godsend for the lone figure who leaned against their bike rack, bundled head to toe in coats and winter wear.

“Kaxuol Keith Galra!” Lance exclaimed, freezing mid-step the second he laid eyes on their escapee, and swung his arm out in a grand pointing gesture.

Despite the fact that he wore sunglasses to cover his eyes, Lance could clearly see the wave of ‘oh shit’ that passed over his face. He marched up to the bundled alien, his belly hot with anxiety and irritation at the fact that Kax was apparently incapable of following simple directions. Pidge and Hunk scrambled behind him, looking ready for a fight, while Kax just uncovered his face, looking at Lance with pursed lips.

“’Galra’ is not my surname—“

“What the hell are you _doing_ here? I thought I told you to stay in my room until we came and got you! This – this isn’t some kinda game, okay? If someone sees you it could be really, _really_ bad! And don’t just – don’t just promise me not to do something and then turn around and do it anyway. That’s decidedly _un_ cool, man.”

Kax was absolutely still in the wake of Lance’s lecture – and then in one fluid motion he was on his feet and in Lance’s face, the bits of fur that were sticking out from under his hat puffing out in aggression. He pressed one clawed finger to Lance’s chest, as the boy instinctively leaned back, stumbling, pinned between Kax and the bike rack.

“H-hey!” Hunk started, lifting his hands placating and stepping forward to intervene.

“Not breaking promise,” Kax growled, his fangs bared, prodding Lance’s chest above his pounding heart for emphasis. “Rescuing you!”

A silence rolled across the school yard like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

Pidge and Hunk looked at each other with wide, startled eyes, while Lance could only stare up at Kax, at the irritated curve of his frown and the crinkle of hurt around his sunlit eyes.

“Wha–… What?” Lance finally managed to gasp.

“Rescue,” Kax repeated with a huff, slowly, for Lance’s benefit. He bent to the side, leaning over Pidge’s bike, and lifted up a wooden baseball bat, holding it up like it was freakin’ Excalibur, punctuating his point. “From ‘School’,” he added, drawing out the word, the emphasis on the wrong syllables, making it a proper noun, making it important.

“What?” Pidge snorted, cackling, as the absurdity of the situation crashed down on them. “Why?”

“Oh my god,” Hunk laughed, positively chortling. “Oh my god. Lance. What did you _tell_ him?”

“N-nothing!” Lance squeaked, pushing himself up, using the bike rack for leverage, and only forcing Kax to take a reluctant step back when they almost bumped faces. “I didn’t tell him anything!”

“’It’s a place where kids are forced to go during the week and we get in trouble if we don’t,’” Kax parroted, his cadence a perfect matching mockery of Lance’s. He unfolded his hands before him, surmising, “A prison.”

Lance gaped, struggling to process this strange turn of events, while Pidge cackled loudly, unabashedly, and Hunk had to turn away, burying his face in his hands in an effort to control himself.

“Kax. My man,” Lance sighed, his face burning as he slung his arm around the alien’s shoulders, pushing the baseball bat down to the ground. “Listen, buddy, I think we had a little misunderstanding. School isn’t actually a bad thing? It’s kinda boring but it’s not dangerous or – or harmful. It just kinda sucks. Sometimes.”

“… Oh.” Kax said at length, his face looking a little more purple than usual. Lance patted his back.

“I, uh, appreciate the, uh, rescue, though,” he offered, his smile lopsided.

“Yeah,” Hunk managed, finally getting his giggling under control. “I’m glad you’ve got our back, man.”

Kax grinned at that, flashing his long inhuman canines.

“Since we’re all together,” Pidge sniffed, wiping a tear from underneath her glasses, “I think it’s time for that field trip I was talking about earlier.”

Hunk blinked. “What, now?”

“Why not?” Pidge shrugged, “It’s a good a time as any – and I want to get there while we still have daylight.”

“Go where?” Kaxuol tilted his head, glancing between the trio, puzzled, as Lance squeezed his shoulder.

“Kax,” Pidge grinned, “we’re gonna find your mom.”

The gang rode as close to the crash site as they could, or, at least where they guesstimated it was. Kax had been too disoriented to remember any landmarks, and Lance had claimed that he couldn’t remember the exact distance, due to the darkness, rain, and general rush of both adrenaline and exhaustion. All they knew for sure was that Kaxuol had crashed in the area they had nicknamed _Endor_ , and that it had taken Lance about an hour and a half to reach it.

After much discussion and calculation, most of which Lance ignored, Pidge and Hunk narrowed down the patch of woods, and they chose a nice, safe spot where they could leave their bikes before they entered the forest.

It was a warm and beautiful day, or, at least, that’s what they assumed as the great height of the trees blocked out the sun, casting the forest floor in deep, brown shadows. Most of the ferns had shriveled and died for the season, but a few still remained, and they pooled water on their leaves, drawing in the moisture and flourishing in the damp, shadowed humidity of the underbrush. The ground was slick with wet leaves and pine needles and lush, spongy moss, splashing the black bark of the trees in sparks of color.

It was slow, careful going, with Lance at the head, valiantly leading them through the woods, blazing their trail. Pidge and Kax were close on his tail, chatting quietly, with Hunk following carefully at the rear, making notes of their turns and any landmarks they could use to mark their path.

The sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon – glowing a brilliant orange and staining the sky with pinks and purples that shrouded the forest in deep, blue shadows – when they decided to stop and take a break. Pidge had brought snacks, originally for Kax to try as a sample of various earth foods, and Lance had found a half-eaten bag of Bugles in his backpack that eventually became their dinner.

Sitting beside a shallow, bubbling creek, they munched in silence, lost in their own thoughts while Kax leaned back to stare up at the trees.

“Why’re you so fascinated with trees, dude? Do you not, like, have them? _Did_ you – I mean – Whatever.” Lance waved a hand, too tired, his feet too sore to make a proper apology for slipping up again.

The silence broken, Pidge and Hunk turned expectantly to their friend. They were both insatiably curious when it came to what Gallera had been like, but they both had too much tact to brazenly ask him questions about it. Not when his loss was still so fresh.

“No,” Kax responded slowly, tearing his eyes away from the swaying canopy to look at them. “We did. Not as…” He made a grand gesture with his Bugle covered claws– “Big. Tall.” He shrugged, and spread his arms to encompass the forest around them, from the dreamlike mist to the babbling of the creek, to the distant cry of songbirds and the groaning of old growth branches. “They are different. Everything here is different.”

Lance opened his mouth, ready to offer condolences or reassurances or cut the sadness train off at the station, but, for what felt like the millionth time that day, Kax surprised him.

“Different doesn’t mean bad, though. Just…different.” He shrugged, his smile small and lovely, and the kids smiled back. That was what they were: different. Four oddities that were so categorically apart from one another that it was a wonder how their paths had ever crossed, how they had intertwined like vines, connecting in a strange and beautiful constellation.

 

* * *

 

 

The temperature was dropping with the sun, and with it went their light. The sky through the gaps in the colorful leaves was a pale blue, and if Lance squinted, he thought he could see a sprinkle of stars. They had an unknown distance left to travel, and not a lot of light left to safely continue, the situation making for low morale.

“Are you sure this is the right area?” Lance asked with a huff, rubbing at his lower back. It wasn’t exactly easy hiking.

“According to the information _you_ provided, yeah,” Pidge said, her words clipped in irritation. She rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “You guys were the ones that were out here – doesn’t anything look familiar?”

They had drifted to a sore and weary stop

Lance spun in a slow, swaying circle, squinting into the blue dusk. He rotated until he was facing a very annoyed Pidge and an exhausted Hunk. “Listen,” He started, with a deep breath, but never got much farther, a furry hand clamping hard over his mouth.

He sent a questioning glance at Kax, prepared to struggle, or lick his hand or something, but stilled when he saw the look on his friend’s face, his ears now sticking out from under his cap and his eyes narrowed. Lance could feel the sudden tension rolling off of him in waves, his claws digging uncomfortably into his cheeks, and his heart tripped into overdrive.

“What—“ Hunk started, but was shushed, Kax ducking low against the broad body of a spruce and peering around it, into the encroaching dark. The other kids huddled close, following his gaze.

There was something moving through the underbrush.

“What _is_ that?” Pidge murmured, her body coiled and tense like a spring, leaning across Lance’s lap in order to whisper in Kax’s ear. He answered with a minute shake of his head, staring into the shadows, waiting, listening, until his eyes adjusted enough to the dark and he could make out shapes, focusing until he could identify the sounds around him, the beating of their hearts and the creak of their terrified breathing – and then blocking them out.

He was left with only the distant figures, creeping and crunching through the drooping ferns and brittle sticker bushes.

Four of them, he decided, going by different smells, and two legged, judging by the amount of noise they were making.

Humans.

Kax relayed the information to the kids in a low, clipped voice. This time, Lance _did_ lick the palm of his hand forcing the alien to let him go with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose.

“How the hell d’you know that?”

He rolled his eyes, and pointed at his ears in lieu of talking. The humans hadn’t spotted them yet, and he wasn’t going to draw them over.

Lance snorted. “What, you’re part bat now?”

“I have no idea what that is,” Kax replied, nudging his shoulder into Lance and Pidge, urging them to get up, get out of there. He could make out the strange humans now, and he was sure his friends could see them too, now that they were close. The beams of their flashlights were a dead giveaway, announcing their approach far before their voices and the crackle of their radio reached them, the white of their full-body suits and helmets glowing fuzzily as they reflected their search lights.

“Are they—“ Pidge started, when a flashlight beam landed on them, lighting up the edge of the spruce like a flare, blinding and sudden, and then Kax was shoving into them, pushing them up and away. The men were shouting, crashing through the bushes and slipping through the leaves as they gave chase, the illuminated cones of their flashlights bouncing wildly, like the crosshairs of dizzying lighthouse beams.

They were a wild mess, colliding and slipping as they fled, scrambling. Lance pulled to the front of the pack, reaching back to grab onto Kaxuol’s hand when he slipped, crashing down on his knees, a sharp pain splitting through his shin – and then he was tugged to his feet again. Pidge latched on to the back of his shirt, running blind, and Hunk, too, grabbing her arm, keeping up, trying to stay together.

The trees rose sharp and sudden out of the dark and the bushes and thorns clung to their clothes, scratching their skin and tugging, dragging them down, desperate for a hold. The men were shouting, their voices booming like thunder, shattering the peaceful magic of Endor, growing closer, closer, gaining.

They ran.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck?!” Lance asked, wheezing, gasping, as they coasted up to his back door. It had been a wild guess as to whose house they should go to, or whose parents would be home, and he thanked the lord that they’d made the right choice and gone to his.

“I don’t know, Lance!” Pidge groaned, tugging a stray twig out of her hair and tossing on the ground.

“What. The. Fuck?”

“Ask me one more time, Lance. See what happens.”

“Guys!” Hunk cut in, sharply, helping Kax off of the back of his bike, the latter favoring his left side, a bruising scratch splitting his knee, deep enough to sluggishly ooze blood. “Can we, like, chill, for five seconds?”

“No,” Lance barked, at the exact time that Pidge grudgingly spat, “Fine.”

Hunk threw up his hands.

They made their way inside, Kax limping, but baring his weight, and up to Lance’s room. They collapsed in varying stages of fatigue on the floor, sweaty and grimy with mud and aching with fine, red scratches. Lance stripped out of his soaked shirt, apathetic and fighting panic, flopping back momentarily on the cool surface of his floor, trying to catch his breath.

Pidge got up, pulling Kaxuol with her into the bathroom, mumbling something about taking a look at his leg, while Hunk lied down on his face, arms and legs splayed in the exact approximation of how Lance currently felt.

By the time Pidge and Kax returned, his knee carefully wrapped, Hunk was sitting up and had turned on a light, slumped next to Lance in gloomy silence. They sat on the bed behind their friends, weary to their bones, and waited for the tension to break.

“So,” Lance started, his bare skin prickling in goosebumps. “What the fuck?”

“Were,” Hunk started, then stopped, hesitating, before dropping his voice. “Were those guys _government?_ ”

“I think that’s a safe bet,” Pidge decided, pushing her hair out of her face before it dried to her sticky forehead. “They were wearing hazmat suits and they were in the same part of the forest we were.” She paused, letting the facts sink in before announcing, “They’re looking for Kax.”

Quiet fell in the wake of that bomb, and slowly, Kax realized that all eyes were on him, heavy with worry and guilt and uncertainty. He shrunk under their gazes.

“We’ve been reckless,” Lance sighed, scrubbing his hand across his eyes. When he looked back up, leaning forward with his legs crossed, his expression was solemn. “But not anymore. If they really were after Kax, or his ship, or whatever, we’ve got to be careful.”

“I guess going back there is out of the question, huh?” Hunk leaned back against the bed frame with a heavy exhale.

“Which means we’ll have to find another way to track down his mom,” Pidge added, as Hunk just groaned.

“This sucks.”

Lance nodded, sympathetic, but serious in his role as a leader, pressing the direness of their situation. “And shit like today, Kax, you can’t sneak out.”

Kaxuol opened his mouth, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but Lance plowed right over him. “No. No excuses. I don’t care. While those G-Men are sniffing around, you can’t go anywhere without us, okay? It’s too dangerous. If they see you, they _will_ take you, okay? And I’ve seen enough movies to know that nothing good ever happens to a captured alien.”

“It’s for your own good, Kax,” Pidge told him softly, squeezing his shoulder. His ears dropped, yielding, the fight going out of him with a huff. He slumped, tipping against her side, sulking and tired but unable to argue.

“We can’t tell anyone about him and we can’t trust _anyone_ ,” Lance stressed, tapping his index finger to the wood floor in emphasis. “This? This stays between us, got it?”

“Got it,” Pidge and Hunk nodded.

“We’re still gonna help you, bud, but we gotta be smart about it. No more mistakes, no outside help. From now on, it’s Us against Them,” Lance continued. He held out his hand, palm facing downward, in the center of their conspiratorial circle. “ _For glory_.”

Hunk covered his hand with his own. “ _For peace_ ,” he continued.

Pidge leaned forward, adding her own hand to the center of the circle. “ _For justice_.” After a pause, she grabbed Kax’s hand, as well, and placed it on top of hers.

They chimed in unison, as if it was second nature, with all the solemnity and pride of an anthem, and Kax realized this wasn’t just some jingle. It was a vow and a code of honor. It was a promise. The trio guided their hands into the wait, swearing, “ _Until the universe’s end, the Paladins will defend_.”

It dawned on Kaxuol, slowly, like a wave breaking against the shore, the sun cresting the horizon, that this was his existence now. Him. Them. Drawn and tied and promised to one another in a wonderful cluster of stars, constant and sure despite the changing tides around them.

 _Everything_ , he thought, _is different._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END OF ACT 1
> 
> we did it guys we made this happen! Thank y'all??? so much???? oh my god. i wouldn't have made it this far without everyone's support and love and it means so much to me! infinite thanks and love to my wonderful beta, ella, without which i would be lying face down on the floor and crying. i mean i do that anyway but she makes it bearable and makes sure i get my shit done. thanks to everyone who left kudos or comments i cherish each and every one of you!
> 
> that being said, we'll be switching gears in act 2, from the kids to the slightly older kids - allura, matt, and shiro. im super hyped you have no idea i spent this entire chapter wanting to desperately write the next one lmao 
> 
> as always, i track both #aspen falls and #aspenfalls. you can find me @entrywound on tumblr if you want chat or send me memes or whatever
> 
> thanks again for everything, and i'll see you guys next sunday!
> 
> peace <3


	8. Have Love Will Travel

 

 

* * *

 

 

“This is _bullshit_ ,” Matt announced, squinting at the piece of paper that he had found taped to their front door that morning. He adjusted his glasses with one hand, maneuvering his clear field of vision around a perfect thumb print on his lens, and read the first paragraph again.

“Bullshit,” he nodded, more to himself than to Katie, who he was giving the benefit of the doubt in assuming she was listening to him. A glob of foamy toothpaste-filled spit dripped onto the corner of the page, and he frowned in disgust. “Right?” he asked around his toothbrush, before spitting into the sink.

“Of course,” Katie replied mildly. He watched her reflection as she sat on the toilet lid, one knee drawn up to her chest as she carefully placed a bright red Band-Aid over one of the many scratches that covered her arms and legs. Her uneven and wet hair was sticking up more than usual, the result of a quick and rough towel drying.

“How’d you even manage that, anyway?” Matt asked, wiping the toothpaste off of the paper with a grimace.

“Talent,” she replied easily, peeling open another Band-Aid.

Matt hummed neutrally, and went back to his morning routine, pulling off his glasses so he could wash his face. Anyone else would be concerned if their baby sister came home covered in angry red scratches, but just anyone didn’t have Katie Holt as a sister. He’d gotten used to her rough and tumble adventures about a year after she had been born, and unless there were broken bones involved he wasn’t too worried about her.

“Anyway, what bullshit were you saying?”

“Oh, right,” Matt mumbled into a towel, drying off his face. He replaced his glasses, turning around in a whirl, red curls bouncing. “’An experimental aircraft,’” he quoted, curling his fingers for emphasis, “wouldn’t cause what I saw! It would require much more energy than anything we’re currently capable of producing!”

Katie sighed, and leveled him with a look. “Matt,” she said, in that slow and patient tone of hers that always came across as more condescending than gentle, “the reason that it’s called an ‘experimental aircraft,’” she lifted her fingers in a mocking air quote, just as he had done, “is because they’re, shockingly, _experimental_. For all you know we _do_ have that capability, it’s just not, like, declassified, or whatever.”

He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine. Fair point. Whatever. But I still don’t think it was an aircraft.”

Katie rolled her eyes, getting up and edging towards the door.

“It’s much more likely that it was a solar flare that caused a disruption in the Earth’s electromagnetic field. It would explain the power outages and the strange lights – like a borealis!”

She arched an eyebrow and looked up at him, crossing her arms over her chest. They stood toe to toe in the tiny bathroom, in heavy, skeptical silence that was broken only by the slow drip of the shower faucet, two mirrors of each other.

“ _Or_ ,” Matt continued, “it was an alien aircraft.”

Katie ducked her head as she pushed past him in a cloud of judgement and exasperation.

“No, Katie, listen—“

She wasn’t listening.

Her shoulders were hunched resolutely around her ears as she stalked down the hallway towards her bedroom. Her hands were bunched into tiny, tense fists at her sides. Matt hurried after her, his socks sliding slightly on the shiny wood floors as he tried to catch up. “Hey, c’mon, at least hear me—“

“Matt,” Katie stopped suddenly, whirling around in her doorway, one hand gripping the door tightly, “I promised Lance and Hunk I’d meet up with them for breakfast and I’m going to be late. Go tell _Shiro_ about your crazy conspiracies. He misses you, anyway.”

He froze, a pleading smile half spread across his freckled face, as something in his brain shuddered and skipped like a record, scratching across the vinyl, at the mention of his friend. “What’s – what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Katie sighed a long suffering sigh, and opened the door just wide enough that she could stick her head out. “It means,” she explained slowly, “that Shiro is into spooky shit—“

“Katie!”

“—which is partially your fault, anyway.”

Matt scoffed. “What? How is it _my_ fault?”

She lifted a dark brow and looked up at him through her lashes.

Matt got the feeling that he was missing something. That wasn’t right, anyway. Katie had been too young to really remember, but it had been Shiro that had gotten _him_ into investigating the paranormal and otherworldly.

Matt remembered it as clearly as if he were watching it on video; that damp and blurry February night - of Shiro standing, framed in the doorway of the front porch, of cold hands and the flashing colors of police lights, of endless questions and then an endless silence. He remembered the blank, hollow look that haunted Shiro’s eyes and had promised himself that he would find the cause and bring him closure. It had just happened that his friend had developed a deep interest in the mysteries of the universe right along with him, and so they had peered into the darkness together.

And then Allura had come along, and they had grown up and grown apart, and Matt had been left to seek answers alone.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Katie. This is adult stuff – it’s – it’s complicated and—“

She cut him off with a guffaw. “Dude, you’re seventeen.”

“Don’t disrespect your elders.” Matt trailed off, his brain finally registering the second half of Katie’s comment and stalling, a flooded engine. “Wait. What? He – he what?”

“He misses you,” Katie drawled, rolling her eyes behind her round glasses. She was leaning back, bouncing the door lightly against her shoulder as she prepared to retreat into her room.

“What? No! How’d – why would you think that?”

“Because he told me, doofus.”

“When?” Matt squeaked. He felt a little off kilter.

Katie tilted her head, and counted back on her fingers, thinking. “I dunno, like, Monday?”

“A-And those were his exact words?”

“No, but—“

“So he doesn’t—“

“Matthew Descartes Holt,” Katie barked, drawing herself up to her rather unimpressive height, using what Matt realized was her ‘commander’ voice. It was a tone she had picked up from both Shiro and Allura and a part of him, deep, deep down, resented how much authority his ten year old sister could put into her squeaky voice when she wanted.

“Stop being difficult. You’ve been all sorts of embarrassing and self-deprecating ever since Shiro and Allura started dating and it needs to stop. I know high school is _a strange and confusing time_ for you,” she said firmly, and Matt felt like he was being lectured by the guidance counselor, “but you need to get your shit together. You and Shiro were, like, joined at the hip for my entire life and then the _second_ that he gets a girlfriend – who, by the way, is great! And who is also trying to include you in plans! – you gotta go and, like, eat your weight in Ben and Jerry’s or whatever and cry into your pillow. You’ve been acting like you’ve lost him when in reality absolutely _nothing_ has changed. _You’re_ the one who’s making mountains out of mole hills. And he’s – he’s waiting for you, man. Just – cool it. And stop being weird. Go hunt UFOs or whatever.”

Matt felt numb, slightly removed from his body, like two frames of film that are out of focus, the images overlapping but not perfectly aligned. He opened his mouth but nothing came out; no words, no protest or retort.

Katie was backing up, slipping into the dim shadows of her room, the glare of the hallway light catching her lenses and obscuring her eyes, while Matt just gaped.

“Hurry, boy,” she whispered in some vaguely musical tone, easing the door closed. “He’s waiting there for you…”

The door clicked closed with the finality of a gunshot, and Matt was still standing there, staring at the rock ‘n roll posters, glow-in-the-dark stars, and warning signs plastered to Katie’s door. When, he wondered, did his baby sister grow up to be so wise.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro was, predictably, at his locker when Matt found him. Homeroom hadn’t started yet, but the weather was shitty and cold enough that everyone was congregating inside, rather than in the parking lot. He was just hanging up his slightly damp letterman jacket when Matt sidled up to him, so focused on finding his right notebook that he didn’t even see him until he closed the door to his locker and Matt piped up.

“Shiro!” he beamed, much too loudly.

“Matt!” Shiro sputtered, jumping half a step back and clutching his stack of books to his (rather sculpted) chest. His hazel eyes were wide in surprise, and he was leaning back, frozen and stiff, in that weird deer in the headlights look he always got when something startled him.

“I need to borrow the Chariot tonight!”

“Um – okay! What for?” Shiro eased back, relaxing as his shock wore off, although he still clutched his books adorably to his chest. He may have had at least a foot on Matt, and probably, like, a hundred pounds of muscle, but he always drew into himself, folding up and compressing himself into a much smaller surface area than he had any right to.

“I’m going on an adventure! A scientific adventure that, if I’m successful, will shake the foundations of our known universe! I'm talkin' Nobel Prize! I'm talkin' a career with NASA!”

“Great! Why are we still yelling?”

“ _I have no-_ ,” Matt stopped himself, and lowered his voice to an acceptable, conversational level. People hadn’t exactly been staring - it was loud enough with the amount of people milling about that their conversation was just one of many, but inevitably they would have drawn attention to themselves. “I have no idea. Anyway.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and self-consciously pushed his curly, messy bangs out of his face.

“So it’s – it’s cool if I take the Chariot? You don’t need to go anywhere tonight, right? Like you don’t have work or…”

Shiro was already shaking his head. “No, no, I don’t have plans.” He leaned into the locker, resting his shoulder against the paint-chipped metal, and tucked his books under his arm. Not quite looming, but entering Matt’s personal space, ducking his head in close. Matt swallowed.

“I’ll give you _Delilah_ ,” he stressed the name of his car, holding the keys out in front of Matt’s face and jangling them, “on the condition that you tell me all about your ‘groundbreaking adventure.’”

Something softened in Shiro’s eyes, no longer bright with teasing, but darker and tight around the edges with what might have been worry. “Promise me it’s safe?”

Matt couldn’t help but roll his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes, _mom_.”

“Matt,” Shiro rumbled, breathing out through his nose in an irritated sigh, “I’m serious. With all this weird stuff going on – just tell me where you’re gonna go. I’m not gonna stop you, I’m just being… responsible.”

 _Of course_ , Matt thought, bitingly, feeling a twist of jealous resentment deep in his gut. Shiro was always the responsible one, the safe one. The capable one, who always erred on the side of caution and always worried about every single person in this stupid town.

Matt jutted his jaw and squared himself up, rising almost on his toes, glaring up at Shiro, only inches from his face. He was close enough that he could see the gray-blue in his eyes, and smell the faint spice of his shampoo. He wanted to bark at him, tell him that he didn’t need Shiro to babysit him, that he may be short but he wasn’t incompetent, but then Shiro quirked one expectant eyebrow, and Matt knew he lost, deflating until he heels were back on solid ground.

“I’m hunting UFOs,” he mumbled under his breath.

Shiro stared at him for a full thirty seconds, and then blinked. “Excuse me?” he frowned, leaning closer and tilting his head slightly, as if he hadn’t actually heard a damn word he’d said.

Matt heaved a sigh, and stared resolutely at the sharp cut of Shiro’s collarbone that peaked out from under the open collar of his red flannel shirt. “I said I’m hunting UFOs. In Mkasess Forest. Tonight.”

“Okay,” Shiro nodded, “okay.” Silence stretched between them, and Matt didn’t want to break it. He didn’t know _how_ to break it, not without saying some other stupid thing that he knew he’d regret. He could just… leave. Shiro was still holding the Chariot’s keys. He could just take them and head to class, crawl in an AP Calculus hole and die, and be done with this embarrassing and awkward conversation.

He began the process of his gearing up his reluctant body to pull itself out of Shiro’s gravitational field, trying to fling himself out of orbit, when Shiro spoke up.

“So… I’ll pick you up at, what? Eight? Or I maybe 6:30 and we can stop by the Knotty Pine for dinner first?”

“What.”

 _What_.

Shiro smiled his stupid, pleasant smile, and Matt wanted to punch his handsome, charming face. Mostly with his own.

“Can you not hear me down there?” Shiro furred his brows in playful concern, and then raised his voice, making a show of enunciating clearly. “I said, should I pick you up at eight? Or do you want to grab dinner fir—ow!”

He stumbled a half step back, rubbing his sternum where Matt had sucker punched him, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to hold down a smile. His laugh was contagious, and Matt couldn’t help but grin. Shiro set his books down, pushing them to the side with his shoe.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be, huh, Holt?”

“That’s how it’s gonna be, _Shirogane_ ,” he nodded, rising to the challenge, falling back in time in the space of a breath. He held up his fists, ducking into what they both knew was a shitty boxing stance. Four years ago they would have been evenly matched, maybe swaying in Matt’s favor, but that had been before Shiro had hit a growth spurt and had shot past him. Now the odds were decidedly against him.

Quirking an eyebrow, Shiro took a single step forward, and swept him up in a bear hug, lifting him clear off the ground.

“Gah!” Matt squeaked, crushed against the hard coil of Shiro’s chest. He was laughing, and Matt felt every rumble roll through him, a shuddering earthquake that shook him, too. “Let me down, let me _down_!”

“What time am I picking you up?” Shiro asked again, impervious to Matt’s attempts at flailing free, like his hug was some sort of government approved torture. Which, it sort of was, if torture was defined as something so wonderful it sparked through your body and made you want to live in the moment between your last heartbeats.

“D-Do you mean that literally?” Matt wheezed, his face half smooshed into Shiro’s shoulder, kicking his legs uselessly for emphasis. “Because I-I think I might be reconsidering—“

“Not unless you want it to be,” Shiro replied with a quiet grin, his breath ghosting across Matt’s ear.

“S-Six thirty is fine,” he replied, having trouble swallowing. “It’s, uh, a date. Ahaha. A-A UFO… hunting… date.”

“Perfect,” Shiro huffed, and set him down with one final squeeze around his shoulders. Matt found himself back on terra-firma, but felt as if he was still up in the atmosphere, like he couldn’t get enough air. “It’s been too long since we went on a crazy, alien seeking adventure. I missed—“

“Are we talking about UFOs?”

Matt yelped, jumping and ducking under Shiro’s arm when someone slammed into the locker behind him, scaring the shit out of the both of them. Shiro’s hand went to his lower back, drawing him instinctively against his side as they both experienced simultaneous cardiac arrest.

Allura grinned at them, all too pleased with herself.

“Yes,” Shiro said, at the same time that Matt squeaked, “No.”

They looked at each other, huddled in a fearful embrace, and amended, “Maybe.”

She raised her perfect eyebrows, and crossed her toned arms, waiting for an explanation. Sheepishly, burning red enough to match his hair, Matt stepped out from under Shiro’s arm and let them do whatever it was boyfriends and girlfriends did these days.

Shiro snaked his arm around her waist, and she gave him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Of course, Matt groaned, inwardly. Of course they’d be too polite and perfect and would greet each other like sane, respectable human beings. It would almost be better if they’d just slammed each other against the lockers and engaged in publicly indecent acts like every other couple in this school. Instead it was a quiet hello and a gentle kiss, with Shiro leaning against her side, her fingers curled firmly around his hip.

“So, what’s this about aliens?” Allura asked, and Matt felt like stuffing himself inside one of the lockers.

It wasn’t like he didn’t like her, because he _did_ like her. A lot. He wasn’t sure if it was the same way he felt about Shiro, but it was damn close, and it was confusing and infuriating – because he didn’t ask for this.

She was perfect; tall, only a few inches shorter than Shiro, and strong. Her biceps were a distraction by themselves. Her hair, which he wasn’t sure if it was bleached or just naturally pale, was a sharp contrast to her freckled skin. Today it was piled up into a messy, fly-away bun that somehow managed to look professionally styled. She must have just gotten in, because she still wore her red and white varsity jacket, with her name and 02 emblazoned across her shoulders.

Slowly, horrifically, Matt realized he was staring, and that Allura was staring intensely right back at him, her almost crystalline blue eyes holding his gaze, patient, expectant.

“We… were going to go out and record UFO activity,” Matt explained, the words spilling out of him without a fight.

Her eyes lit up like a candle, and she leaned forward, drawing the three of them closer together. “Oooh! Do tell!”

“You know that notice thing the Sheriff sent out?” He received two answering nods. “I don’t think it was an experimental aircraft. I – I saw it that night. I even took pictures! And I caught a glimpse of it again last night, but it was gone before I could get my equipment.” He was picking up speed, bubbling with growing excitement with each passing second. He was falling into his element, spurred by Shiro and Allura’s enraptured expressions. “As far as I could tell it was over the part of Mkasess Forest that’s under quarantine, and I – I _know_ it sounds crazy but I think there’s a lot more going on than the police and the government is letting on.”

“And you think it’s aliens?”

“Yes, I think it’s aliens.”

Allura nodded sagely. “Is there room for one more on this sci-fi adventure of yours?”

Shiro was grinning, slowly, like he was watching the pieces all falling into place. Matt blinked, and felt like the floor had rotated twenty degrees. He felt off balance. “Wait, what? You – you want to come with us?”

She laughed, a grin curling her soft lips and softening her bright eyes. “Of course! I can’t let _my boys_ have all the fun, now, can I?”

 

* * *

 

 

Matt heard the Chariot, aka Delilah, aka Shiro’s shit-mobile long before he saw her. The ’67 Wildcat had been Shiro’s baby since the dawn of recorded history – or, like, since he was fourteen. What had started as a hobby and learning experience, a broken down pile of scrap metal gifted to him by his uncle that no one had ever thought would run, had grown into the multicolored monstrosity that was now rumbling around the corner.

She was loud like a jet engine, she smelled like burnt rubber and gasoline, she broke down constantly, and had neither heat nor air conditioning, but the Chariot/Delilah was begrudgingly beloved by all.

Because she was impossible. Because she was _magic._

She was the success story that had news agencies flocking to write about, she was the underdog, the anti-hero, the ugly duckling that grew into a smelly, gas guzzling, temperamental swan. She made anything seem possible when driving her, like any mountain could be climbed, like the trail was there to be blazed, to be conquered.

 _Oh, god,_ Matt thought, as the Chariot idled up to the curb in front of his house, _I’m getting sentimental over a car._

“Alright, Shiro’s here! I’ll see ya later, mom!” he called, slipping out the door, his heavy backpack slung over his shoulder. He almost didn’t hear her reply over the idling purr of the Chariot’s heavy engine.

“Okay, honey! Be sure to call me later! Be careful! Oh, and make sure you eat a healthy dinner—“

“Okay great, mom, gotta go! Love you! Bye!” Matt slammed the door behind him, and hopped down the three steps from their porch. He breathed a sigh of relief, jogging down the sidewalk. His mom had been understandably reluctant to let him stay out. Everyone had pretty much heard the news about the weird mutant creature and the plane crash, and, as was the norm in a small, sleepy town, everyone was blowing it way, _way_ out of proportion.

She’d only agreed to let him stay out all night when he’d told her he and Shiro were planning an all-night study session for the SATs.

He explained this to Shiro as he slammed the front passenger door closed, tossing his backpack over the back of the bench seat.

Shiro huffed a laugh, turning the music down and easing out onto the street.

“And she believed you? The SATs aren’t until the spring.”

“It’s never too early to start preparing!” Matt grinned, using the same chipper tone he had used on his mom earlier. “Plus, I think it helped that it’s…you.” He looked down at his lap, scratching at a frayed hole on the knee of his jeans. “I think she’s glad that we’re hanging out again. She always liked that we were, y’know, friends. I think she thought you were a good influence on me or something.”

“Me? A good influence on you?” His voice sounded strange, but Matt was too busy fussing with his jeans to look up, forcing himself not to make eye contact. He hummed noncommittally, and twitched a shoulder in a shrug.

“Where’s Allura, anyway?” Matt asked, only when the silence in the car was beginning to feel melancholy and claustrophobic. He had expected her to be picked up first, but the back seat was empty apart from his backpack, two duffel bags, a pillow, old grease-stained class notes, pizzeria receipts, and some crumpled sheet music.

“She said she was gonna be late – some student council thing, I guess?”

“Oh,” Matt said, because he didn’t know what else to say, and let the silence flood the car again. Shiro turned up the music, tuned into the local rock station, and drove the through town. He took his time, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift, coasting the Chariot around the square and out towards the school.

He opened up on Cedarcrest, not too fast, of course, because it was Shiro and he was a responsible and sensible driver. But he was also seventeen, with a fast car, and 360 horses under his hood, and so maybe they pushed the speed limit a little. Maybe the engine roared like its namesake, and the trees flew by outside in a blur of shadowed, black trunks and an inferno of leaves. The windows were cracked enough that the wind whistled inside, sweet with the smell of autumn and cold enough to raise goosebumps, like a finger tracing his vertebrae, like hands tugging through his hair.

They drifted through the turns, the car rumbling, ferocious and wild, and Shiro navigated them easily, like he was born for this, like it was thrumming through his blood in the same way that adrenaline was singing in Matt’s.

The music was loud, Shiro was grinning, and Matt was at peace with the thought his heart was going to strangle itself in his chest.

The Chariot drifted into the school parking lot, rocketing through the pothole that always sent Matt flying through the roof on the bus, around to the front of the building, and the spell was broken.

Allura was waiting for them, her backpack slung over her shoulders, and her hair slightly more fly-away than it had been that morning. She smiled wide when she saw the car, a flash of white teeth, and then she was jogging over to meet them, a galloping trot that drew emphasis to her swaying hips and long, muscular legs.

“H- _Heeey_ ,” Matt drawled nonchalantly as she opened the door, throwing her bag inside the same way someone would throw a bag of trash into a dumpster. She slid into the backseat with all the grace of a princess and immediately leaned forward to fold her arms across the back of the bench seat.

“Good evening, dears,” she greeted them, sliding over briefly to press a kiss to Shiro’s cheek. She settled down between the two, her hair a passenger by itself, and glanced excitedly from side to side as the Chariot looped out of the parking lot, north, out into the wilds. “So! What’s our destination?”

Matt turned in his seat, drawing one leg up onto the cushion until his knee was pressing against Shiro’s thigh, twisting around to he could face them both. He took a deep breath as he adjusted his glasses and answered, “The truth.”

Allura pushed her palm against the side of his head, giving him a light shove, further accentuated by a colorful roll of her eyes. Shiro kept his eyes on the sunlit painted road, but Matt could see him fighting a smile.

“Okay, okay,” he snorted, and gestured for Allura to hand him his backpack. She did so, shoving it over the top of the seat and rather unceremoniously into his lap.

“What in the world do you have in there? It weighs more than you do,” she huffed, pushing the curled bangs out of her eyes.

“How do you know how much I weigh?” Matt shot back, rooting around inside his bag. He could feel her arm against the side of his head, her chin practically resting in his hair, and if it wasn’t for the cracked windows, he was sure he’d be able to feel her breath as she craned her neck, trying to sneak a peek inside of his bag.

“I don’t,” she snorted, “but one so small can only weigh so much.”

“Come down here and say that to my face,” Matt challenged, turning to face her and realizing too late that she was much, much too close, and that they were nose to nose. He could see each individual fleck of blue in her eyes, how her irises looked darker towards the edges. Matt resisted the urge to fling himself back across the dashboard, holding steady if only for dignity’s sake.

“Be careful what you wish for,” she murmured, only centimeters separating them. Matt could feel his soul leaving his body when she batted her long, dark lashes at him.

“No, but seriously,” Shiro piped up, the car slowing down to a reasonable speed, one hand holding steady on the wheel. “Where… are we going?”

They both turned to look at their driver at the same time, Allura looking neutral and contemplative, and Matt feeling like his face was going to melt off. He fumbled for his map, folding it out in across his lap and the space between him and Shiro.

“U-Um...” He gulped down his embarrassment and focused on trying to read his own illegible handwriting. “Uh, well, it’s. It’s over this portion of the forest – or at least that’s where it’s shown up the last two nights. As far as I could tell,” he reminded them. “So… somewhere close by there?”

“Isn’t that area under quarantine, though?” Shiro questioned, his brows furring together as he stared out the windshield. The sun was dancing across the treetops, painting them in amber pockmarks that whizzed past just as quickly as they’d arrived.

“Yeah, but I’m thinking somewhere we can get a good vantage point. It doesn’t have to be within that zone – we only need a clear view of the sky above it.”

They fell into a thoughtful quiet, wracking their brains for an idea. Matt cursed himself for not thinking this through earlier. Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to him that he would get this far, and that he wouldn’t be alone. It was kinda jarring how the idea in his head of how tonight would go was differing so wildly with reality.

He liked reality’s version more.

“Oh!” Allura gasped, sitting up so suddenly she almost bumped her head against the roof, if not for the cushion of her hair. “We can go to Half Moon Ridge. It’s far enough away that we shouldn’t be seen, but just high enough that we’ll have an excellent view.”

Shiro was nodding, thoughtfully, seemingly making his decision when the car started picking up speed again. Matt had no idea where Half Moon Ridge was, or what the terrain was like, but that was apparently where they were going. And it wasn’t like he had a better idea, so he turned to face forward again, fighting with folding his map for a few minutes before giving up all together and just shoving it in his bag.

The trees turned from individuals into a blur outside the window, towering and silhouetted against the pale blues and yellows of the setting sun. They flew into the turns, drifting, gliding with a grace he didn’t expect the Chariot to have. The engine roared, like building thunder, and it felt like a battle cry.

Allura slithered over the front seat, her hair spilling over across Matt’s shoulder as she reached forward to fiddle with the radio. Her tongue poked slightly out from between her teeth as she concentrated on finding a clear station. They were far out on Mill Line Road, twisting through the switchbacks and winding roads, and a clear signal was few and far between.

Amazingly, she found one, and then through a burst of static the cold air was suddenly filled with the ringing guitar riffs of the Sonics. Her grin was fierce and triumphant as she turned the dial to the right, until the snarling engine and even Matt’s thoughts were drowned out.

Their journey was taking them into the unknown – the _theoretical_ unknown, and Matt could feel the excitement building. Allura was laughing, singing quietly under her breath and tapping her hands against the cracked leather at his back, her hair dancing in the draft, and Shiro was grinning, wide and open next to him, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel. Matt felt the rumble of the engine through his spine, and he felt powerful, flooding with possibilities and questions and a calling for answers.

The trees grew taller the further from town they went, stretching across the highway scattered with orange leaves, like embers, as the sun fell lower.

Some part of him, deep inside his chest, stirred, wild and untouched and reckless, and he wondered what would happen if they just kept going. If they didn’t make the inevitable turn onto one of the hidden fire-roads and just kept driving into the night. How far could they get and what would they find at the end of the road?

He wanted to find out. He wanted to go, to see what was beyond the town limits and to claim it as their own. He wanted the mystery and the excitement and the unpredictability that came with a life on the road. Just them, and their Chariot.

Matt’s chest felt tight with longing and something like excitement, but heavier, bone deep. With every turn of their tires he felt like they were stepping into something much, much bigger than themselves, than the three of them as one entity, and he wanted to discover whatever it was, and hold on to it, grab tight with both hands and never let that feeling of invincibility and infinite possibilities and importance go.

The sun had slipped beneath the horizon, leaving only a gradient of white and yellow and pale blue across the cloudless sky. Jupiter was already shining bright above the treeline, and he thought he could just make out the first peak of Sirius when suddenly they pulled gently off the road and onto a wide path, worn to the dirt in two strips by countless tires.

The Chariot handled easily through the bumps of off-roading, pulling herself up until they crested the top of a hill. The trees fell away in a clearing, and a couple meters out the clearing fell away into nothingness. Beyond that was the world. Their world - the dark green sea of Mkasess Forest, the distant, blue peaks of Aruna Peak and Whitetail Mountain, and somewhere bar beyond Matt knew was Mount Katahdin. To the east were lights, small and warm, like the glow of ship lights on the ocean: Aspen Falls.

They had arrived.

Shiro cut the engine, and the resulting silence felt like a punch to the gut, the space in between a breath, and they sat, transfixed in the quiet’s spell. Matt felt like he was frozen within that moment, like he was standing on a precipice. One more step and he would fall.

Allura opened the door, kicking it open with her calf-high boot, and the creak of old metal broke the spell.

They worked in companionable quiet as they set up their makeshift camp. Shiro had brought flashlights and blankets, Allura had bought books and snacks, and Matt had brought the equipment. He focused on setting up his tape recorders and cameras, with Allura leaning over his shoulder and providing light, while Shiro, a Professional Blanket Fort Architect, rolled sleeping bags and quilts out across the cold, damp grass.

By the time they had finished and had settled down, the sun had finally lost its last tenuous grip on the sky, and night descended.

They sat shoulder to shoulder at the front of the Chariot. A couch cushion that reeked of stale gasoline from Shiro’s trunk propped up against the front bumper, giving them something to lean against comfortably. Allura was pressed against Shiro’s side, her long legs stretched out across the blanket, until her feet pushed against Matt’s thigh. The lantern cast a protective circle of cool yellow light, and they huddled together amidst the array of microphones and cameras at their feet.

The night felt cool but heavy with the promise of discovery.

“And now,” Matt said, breaking the eager quiet, feeling two pairs of eyes turn to him expectantly, “we wait.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Text version of the Sheriff's notice](https://docs.google.com/document/d/19JrXna0aphPnyigFWmYGcEzZDgmU7n-x8g0tqr6PPR4/edit?usp=sharing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o dang here it is! chapter 8! the start of act 2! we did it friends! 
> 
> some news while im here:  
> CHECK OUT THE SWEET SWEET FANART IN MY TAG????   
> http://entrywound.tumblr.com/tagged/aspenfalls-fanart  
> the official soundtrack!:http://entrywound.tumblr.com/post/151436088735  
> King Alfor And the Paladins' album: http://entrywound.tumblr.com/post/151436891485
> 
> i'll be starting my new job in a week or less so im not sure what my update schedule is going to be, but expect an update every other week maybe?
> 
> ALSO like a super duper extra special thanks to ella who is my co-author, beta, sounding board, AF Fan Club Ambassador, and marketing team??? like hot dang ur the best?!?? and thank u for the much improved summary!! 
> 
> im @entrywound on tumblr if you wanna talk, and i track the #aspen falls tag! 
> 
> until next time my dudes
> 
> peace <3


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